


when the wolves come out

by g_uttertrash



Series: domestic monsters [8]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Come Swallowing, Curse Breaking, Domestic Fluff, Felching, Fluff and Smut, Ghost Liam, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Light Angst, M/M, Magic, References to Depression, References to Shakespeare, Rimming, Sex Magic, Tarot, Vampire Louis, Werewolf Niall, Witch Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-06
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-08-13 11:56:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 62,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7975948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/g_uttertrash/pseuds/g_uttertrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween is swiftly approaching; now, if only they could enjoy it. </p><p>(Gemma comes to visit, the crows may or may not be spies, and a spirit is laid to rest.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. you're my favorite kind of night

**Author's Note:**

> goddd this thing was a monster haha this is what happens when you decide to add in an actual plot at the last minute, sorry it's taken me ages :( thank you all so, so much for your encouraging messages and comments and, as always, your patience <3 the next one will be up by halloween!! there's only 2 more after this omg 
> 
> also there's sort of a game of thrones spoiler so if you haven't seen seasons 5 and/or 6, this is your warning which is funny because i haven't even seen those seasons
> 
> playlist is [here](http://8tracks.com/g-uttertrash/domestic-monsters) if you want, whole idea is based loosely on [this](http://moniquill.tumblr.com/post/66494076079/necrotype-domestic-monsters-the-witch) post, and (as always) the title is from one direction's "wolves"

_I believe pain breeds wolves  
and joy give rise to moons._

_We grow forests in our bones  
so our memories can’t find us_

_I believe we hide and haunt ourselves._

_-_ Pavana

 

_October_

As autumn comes sweeping in a rush of wind and rain, one thing becomes abundantly clear: there is something very wrong with Louis’ boys.

The realization arrives subtly, so much so that Louis doesn’t even see it at first. It’s in the little things: the weather has returned to its usual gloom, the sun all but vanishing. Louis is used to it, of course, but like the same foul mood that settled over them during the summer, he can feel all those days creeping up on them. Being British and Irish, for the most part they are used to a certain degree of it—or had been, until Harry brought light into their lives in virtually all things. Now, however, there’s very little light left to be found and it’s thrown them all out of orbit, separating into their own private solar systems.

It starts, as many things do, with Niall. 

Niall’s busy with his new job; the only time Louis sees him is in the evenings when he comes home exhausted and grumpy, looking to eat, shower, and go to bed. Every word out of his mouth is about the restaurant where he’s front of house staff, complaining about his co-workers and their terrible customers. Soon enough, Louis knows just about everything there is to know about Niall’s co-workers; it’s like a real life soap opera and when Louis tries to complain about it, Niall snaps at him. “Sorry some of us have to work,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can’t all be rich as God with all the free time in the fucking world.”

His attempts at cheering Niall with his favorite pastime—drinking—go even worse. “You know, since you’re here all the time, it wouldn’t kill you to clean up every once in a while when I’m gone,” he sighs the next day, gathering up a couple of their glasses from the coffee table, and when Louis opens his mouth, he shifts the glasses, holding up a silencing hand. “ _Don’t_ make any dead jokes. I’m not in the mood.”

That’s his first clue. Niall is _always_ in the mood to joke about Louis being undead. He frowns, watching Niall go; his aura is a dark blue ringed in gray. He’s never seen it anything less than vivid since he gained the ability and this is something he doesn’t quite know what to do with. Still, he knows Niall, he knows his moods and the cycle of their life together, so he leaves him be. This happens. He’ll come around, the way he always does. Everyone needs time to themselves every hundred years or so.

He just hopes it’s soon because he really wants to talk to Niall about the invitation he got in the post. He tried to bring it up twice, but Niall just hasn’t the time. With it left to Louis to hold onto the knowledge, it’s there in the back of his mind every second, and he can’t help staying home all day and night now. Not that any of the lads want to go out anyway, and Louis has virtually no reason to go out by himself unless it’s to go to the shops for food and sundry, or go to his stash to top up his accounts, which he hasn’t had to do since the time he took Harry there. The museum offered him mint for his German bible since it was in such good condition. Turns out old illuminated books are, as the kids would say, lit—and there’s a joke in there, too, which makes it Louis’ favorite thought in a long time.

The point is, he can’t just _leave_. Not without knowing if he’s being watched or not. Just walking past the windows in the house makes him paranoid, especially when he notices a couple of crows on the fence outside. They could be out there, tracking his movements through the glass, waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for an in, for some way to trick him. The very idea of that haunts him and he almost does something very regretful to a postman that comes to the door to drop off a parcel of books for Harry.

The second clue is Liam. Liam is everywhere, nowhere, and every place in between, so much so that Louis can’t track him, can’t gauge what’s going to happen next. Liam’s moods are more volatile than Louis’ lately, and more than once, Liam goes off on him for seemingly simple things. After a few choice arguments about who should clean up what or who used up the last of the tea—little biting things that afflict every household—Liam disappears almost entirely.

Physically, anyway. They can still feel him everywhere in the house: the lights flicker so often that Louis almost calls an electrician; the furniture levitates every now and again whether or not someone is using it; and at one point in the first week of October, the pipes freeze because it gets so cold in the house, one of them breaking. Harry’s cellar floods and up until then, Louis’ never seen him proper angry before. Even when he sorts it out with magic, he goes on scowling for the next day, muttering about ghosts and slamming doors everywhere he goes. The anger leaves a static itch all over Louis that won’t leave and he has to keep his distance.

“Liam, can you maybe…tone it down a notch?” Louis asks afterward, standing alone in his room. “You’re up here,” he says, holding a hand far above his own head. “And you need to be about down here.” He holds his hand in front of his chest.

There’s no answer.

Louis lets out an aggravated sigh. All of this is starting to give him a headache of truly historical proportions. “I’m not going to apologize! I was right, okay? It’s simple housekeeping: if you drink the last of the tea, you go get more!”

Still, no answer.

“And you know, to be fair, you _did_ bust up the pipes. So honestly, you should be the one apologizing!”

In answer, a gust of frigid wind blows through the room, flipping pages of some open comic books and rustling the curtains. Louis just sighs again, letting his hands fall to his sides.

He can tell where the real problem lies because Harry is, strangely, no help whatsoever. After the incident with the pipes, he is gone more and more often. At first, Louis thought he was cleaning and fixing up his workshop, but it wouldn’t take hours every day with magic at his fingertips. When he’s not down there, he’s in the sitting room, face buried in papers or books, nary a word out of him. He’s moody and, if Louis is being honest, downright catty at times. He sleeps only a handful of hours a night and when Louis tries to get him to sleep more, he’s shrugged off.

Attempts at communication go just about the same way.  

“Babe, have you noticed something going on with Liam and Niall?” Louis asks from where he’s straightening some of the books on the shelves in the sitting room. Since he’s stopped going out, it’s his latest project: organizing the books according to subject matter and sorting them alphabetically. It’s dull, but it gives him something to focus on that isn’t vampires, or the dreadful moods of everyone in the house.

Harry doesn’t answer.

Louis stops, glancing over, a copy of _The Complete Medicinal Herbal_ in his hands. Harry is sitting at the dining room table, penning letters, frowning in concentration. There are dark circles under his eyes, but if he feels how tired he looks, he hasn’t said anything. “Harry?”

“Hm?”

“Did you not hear me?”

“Must’ve missed it.” He barely looks up. “What’s the problem?”

“Niall and Liam. Have you noticed something going on with them?”

He can tell Harry isn’t really listening when he says, “Romantically?”

“What? _No!_ As people. You know, our friends, the werewolf and ghost we live with?” When he doesn’t answer again, Louis goes on, sliding the book into its new place on the shelf. “They seem a bit off. I figured you might have a clue, since y’know, you’re the one who can feel our energy and everything…”

“If there was something wrong, I imagine they’d say something.” Harry gets up, clutching his papers. “I’ve got to look something up, I’ll be down in the cellar.” He blinks in the light, as if just realizing Louis is there. “Was there anything else?”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis says, watching him go. He’s _always_ in the cellar these days but when Louis goes down to visit him, he gets the sense that Harry has just done a spell to clear his things away and close all his books; it’s much the same feeling as walking into a room full of people that’s clearly been talking about you, as they all go quiet when you come in. Normally, Louis thrives on that feeling, but not when it’s Harry. Not when his nature-spouse is shutting him out.

“What are you working on?” Louis asks more than once.

Harry waves a hand vaguely. “Oh, you know. Just looking into some academic things. Witch stuff. You’d be bored.”

Louis bites his tongue, wondering when he’s ever given the impression that he didn’t want to hear about it. Sure, he jokes, but he loves listening to Harry’s rambling theories and ideas about what he can and can’t do with his extraordinary gift. For Harry to somehow think he doesn’t care, that he isn’t interested…well, that’s just insulting.

Still, he doesn’t push. It reminds Louis quite a lot of his moments of depression. Harry waited patiently for him to come back from that, so Louis resigns himself to do the same. He has faith that at some point, Harry will come back around and start telling him things again. Maybe he’s stuck and waiting for that burst of inspiration. Maybe he and Niall are just feeling down. Both of them. At the same time. Right.

The third clue arrives on the morning of October 8th, revealing to him the drastic nature of their problems. Louis finally works up his courage and manages to leave the house. Harry and Niall are at work and Liam’s still phasing in and out of true existence, so it falls to Louis to pick up some of the things they need around the house during the day and they’re getting sick of reminding him, as he’s been making up excuses to stay home. Niall left a list, then Harry went through and edited Niall’s list, crossing off the non-essentials, and then Niall marked up _that_ list asking why precisely those items were non-essential, so Louis made his own and went to the shops with that, shoulders hunched against the wind, eyes constantly moving.

There are six crows sitting on top of the shop when he arrives and he narrows his eyes at them. It’s nothing, though. Crows are his _friends_ , they blessed him and Harry in a meadow. There’s no reason to be suspicious. It’s the country, after all, there are always crows about. Right?

He hasn’t felt this paranoid in decades and he loathes it. How dare they make him slink around his own town? It makes him angrier than anything, that he finally found a place to be himself, a place where he can have a home and a family with Harry and the lads, and they have to come in and shatter it. He can’t help wondering how it happened. Did one of the few people who knew his location talk? Had they been following his trail all this time? _How did they find him?_

He’s almost tempted to write back and ask, but not nearly enough to give them the satisfaction. He’s done with that part of his life. Finished. If only they would accept that.

He’s wandering through the shop, distracted from buying spices by the woman at the end of the aisle— _Is she one of them? Is she watching me?_ —when he sees the Halloween display. Sweetie pails shaped like Frankenstein’s monster head and jack-o-lanterns are stacked haphazardly beside large boxes filled to the brim with sweets. There’s a sign advertising a costume section at the back of the store and a plastic skeleton points toward that area, fake spider webs hanging off its arms and shoulders.

There are a couple fliers for parties and events in the city and it hits him all at once: it’s _October_. How often has Harry told him it’s the most important month of the year? How often has he waxed poetic about Halloween and how it’s his favorite holiday? Hell, even Louis and Niall went ham every year for almost a century. It was how they met, the binding seal of destiny that brought them all together in the first place. It’s the closest thing to a religion they have, every ritual of its celebration sacred. They’re monsters; it’s their _thing_. Halloween is swiftly approaching and nobody in his house, not even Harry, is preparing or even the least bit excited? What horrible alternate universe is this?

“Oh god,” Louis whispers, pressing a hand to his forehead in distress. “We’ve become boring. We’re so domestic, we’re in a _rut_.” 

Very quietly, somewhere far away, something snaps. A shiver rolls down Louis’ spine and his skin warms with…something. He blinks, his vision clearing. It stuns him motionless for a good minute and that’s when he knows for certain: something is definitely wrong.

When he gets back to the house, there are _twelve_ crows and they’re all sitting on the roof, looking at him. He scowls at them. “Stop it. Go away.”

They ruffle their feathers, cawing softly to each other. Tilt their heads, exam him with watchful eyes. Somehow, he just knows these crows aren’t the local birds he and Harry know. They’re from somewhere else, somewhere Louis knows well. Too well.

“Tell him to leave me alone!”

When they still don’t move, he throws rocks at them until they fly away, their caws echoing back to him as they vanish over the line of trees.

All the rest of the day, he’s lost in thought. He made a promise to himself years ago: Never boring. The moment something becomes boring, it’s time to move on and find something else. Besides the risk of discovery and death, boredom is one of the hardest things to avoid as a vampire and it can mean terrible things. Boredom can push vampires to be reckless, to chase down anything that might make them feel alive again. In some cases, that means murdering sprees and bloodbaths, which can lead to the aforementioned discovery and death. So though it’s become harder in recent years to avoid—because what _hasn’t_ he done or tried in the last thousand years?—he figured living with a werewolf, witch, a siren, and then a ghost would change that. And it did.

Until now. Complaining about bills and groceries and work, snapping at each other and ignoring their problems; now, they’re so static they may as well be human. It practically makes Louis sick at the thought.

He waits for Niall to come home before bringing it up with—everybody minus Harry, anyway, as he texted earlier and said he would be late due to a cow giving birth in some farmer’s field. That vet’s office is so understaffed always, Louis is almost tempted to put in just to give them a hand. Or he would, anyway, if that wasn’t the exact opposite point of this little impromptu flatmate meeting.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, hands planted on his hips.

Niall barely shifts his attention from the telly. He’s slouched on the sofa, eating from a bag of crisps. Louis has to assume Liam is invisible but present. “Huh?”

“With us. Why are we so…normal all of a sudden?” _Terrible,_ he thinks. _We’re being terrible._

“Dunno what you’re on about.”

“Are you joking? It’s October and none of us have started decorating for Halloween! We’re too busy arguing over who went to the shops last and our boring work schedules.”

At that, Niall turns to look at him. “ _Our_ , he says. Lou, you don’t work. And even if you did, you’d probably be sacked.”

“I know. That’s why I don’t work.”

“Yeah. And you don’t need the money.”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. We’re always griping about money these days. _None_ of us needs to work. Why do we? I could literally pay for everything. We should go on an adventure. Take a cruise.”

“Yes,” Niall says dryly. “A werewolf on a cruise. What a brilliant idea.”

“Harry can make your wolfsbane biscuits or whatever it is you eat nowadays!”

Niall doesn’t even favor that with a response. “Since you’re home all day, doing whatever it is that you do, why don’t you give it a go then? Harry moved his Halloween things into the cellar. Haul them out.”

Louis pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. The flatmate-headache is returning. “Niall, that’s not the point.” As if he’s going to decorate their huge haunted house _alone_. The lone vampire in a house built on the supernatural foundations of their foursome. What kind of nonsense.

“Then what is the point? Because…” He yawns. “I’ve been sleeping like shit lately so I’m knackered and I need a shower, so if you could get to it any time soon, that’d be nice.”

Louis stares at him. “I cannot believe what I’m hearing. From you, of all people.”

“Whatever. Me, of all people, is exhausted.” He gets up, clutching the bag of crisps to his chest. “Anyway, I’ll talk to you later. Order takeaway, will you?”

He doesn’t cook anymore. That’s something about Niall lately that cuts Louis to the core. There’s no joy in him, no passion; it’s all gone dry. So he doesn’t cook, the same way Liam isn’t excited about the little things in life anymore like his comics and the way music washes over him, the same way Harry is hardly using his magic at all these days, except when they absolutely need it. They’ve lost their spark and if there’s one thing Louis can’t abide, it’s people losing what they love, what gives them their livelihood.

Louis can see it in the air: The magic that hangs around, that fine glittering mist that trails after Harry in streams like stardust in some far away galaxy, is silent. Once it used to beat like a human heart, following the rhythm of some music that only Harry could hear. It used to shimmer in a dozen different colors, like a rainbow in a kaleidoscope, turning over and over itself in a myriad of shapes and rich, jewel tones, a tapestry of memories and feelings unique to Harry. It used to linger on Louis’ skin and mouth, and he could taste it whenever he licked his lips, that earthy-sweet taste of life, like the smell of rain, fresh and cool in his mouth. It used to feel like freedom and laughter. The air used to dance with their lives, with the possibilities, with Harry’s magic and light. 

Now it’s still, like the house is empty, like it was when they first arrived. It’s quiet, almost unlived in. The magic has dulled to flecks of gray that hang in suspension, moving slowly like specks of dust, and that’s what it reminds Louis of. An abandoned house, left to the memories, to the dust. To be forgotten.

Liam’s no help, either, when he decides to reveal himself. He’s wispy, half-transparent, dark circles under his eyes. “What’s the point?” he sighs. “Every day is Halloween already.”

“Yes, but that’s what makes it fun.”

“How is _this_ fun?” Liam reaches for a book, but his hand goes right through it.

“Well, when Harry comes home—”

“I can’t always be waiting on Harry!” Liam sighs again, the sound more drawn out this time. “I’m tired, Lou. Go away.”

“But—”

“Go away!” His voice takes on an echoing tone, his eyes flashing silver. Several of the books in his room float into the air as he vanishes; they go shooting at the walls as he goes, forcing Louis to duck to avoid being hit by the nearest one.

He scowls. “You’re a proper prick lately, you know that, right? Being dead is not that bad!”

The doorknob, when he touches it, is so cold that it almost burns. He shudders.

Once, Harry mentioned to him that it was possible he was alive again for a purpose, and he was given the rare chance to discover what it is, and isn’t that the beauty of it all? Well, Louis thinks this might be his purpose. These boys are his priority and his responsibility now. They’re not the family he was born to, they’re not the family he adopted, but they’re the family that chose _him_ and that means something. Even when he’s tired at the end of the day—because one thousand years is a very, _very_ long time—that still means something to him. And finding meaning when you’re this old is a rare thing to come by, something precious to cling to.

Louis somehow knows that Harry, despite his usual enthusiasm, is going to be even less help. After all, he forgot about the holiday _entirely_. Truth be told, Louis doesn’t really know what to do, or how to approach him about it, either; chatting with him now is like navigating a minefield these days. He’s not used to being shut out, especially by Harry, and it’s left him a bit out of sorts.

He only has one card left up his sleeve.

After all, Harry isn’t the only witch he knows.

* * *

Louis is running. There’s a shadow at his back, a long hallway, and a door at the end—and he’s running.

The hallway is red, all bright reds along the haloes of wall sconces, and all dark reds in the corners, along the floor. At first he thinks it’s paint, but he can see the uneven splashes as the lights flicker, can see how it’s gone thick and black in places; he can _smell_ it and he knows, he knows it’s not paint.

The shadows close in on him, but the hallway just seems to stretch on and on. Louis is getting tired but he doesn’t _get_ tired, he shouldn’t, and the lights are flickering more and more, and he can’t see in the dark all of a sudden, he can’t see much of anything. All he knows is it’s getting hard to breathe, the walls feel like they’re closing in and he shouldn’t even need to breathe but his chest aches and his head is throbbing and he can _hear_ the footsteps just behind him.

Finally, finally, he reaches the door at the end of the hallway, but the second his hand closes around the doorknob, the lights go out, the hallway pitch black, and a deep cold settles over him at the exact moment a hand grabs his shoulder. A voice whispers in his ear, saying _you’re a murderer,_ saying _wake up_ , shouting—

“Louis!”

He moves without thinking through the haze of the dream, still struggling for escape, trying to snatch those voices out of thin air. His hands close around something far more delicate.

He blinks, looking down at Harry. Louis is straddling him, holding his wrists down against the bed. He can feel the pulse beneath his fingers, can hear the wild way Harry’s blood is singing through his veins. Louis can tell there’s a bit of fear in it, can smell it in the air.

Instantly, his grip softens. “Jesus,” he says, letting out a rush of breath. Normally, breathing feels weird but this time, it feels good, a relief after that dream. He’s been having that one since the Victorian Era, but it’s never shaken him quite like this before. “What’d I tell you about the rules?”

Harry blinks at him in the dark. He’s still half-asleep, but Louis thinks there’s a shine to them, a clarity to his eyes that Louis hasn’t seen in weeks. _There he is,_ Louis thinks. He’s found Harry again, he’s come back, even if it’s only briefly, even if just for a moment. The clock beside them on the bedside table reads 3:17. It flickers and blinks, turns to 3:18.

Harry licks his lips slowly, shifting beneath Louis so that Louis slides a little further down his body, settling over his hips. “Thought we threw the rules out,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Besides, they didn’t cover nightmares.”

“Yeah, that’s on me,” Louis says. “Didn’t think I’d have to plan for that. Normally, I don’t dream.”

Harry winces. “Sorry.”

“That’s on me,” he says again. “This was an old one. Nothing you could’ve done.”

Louis is about to let go of Harry’s wrists when he realizes it in stages: Harry’s heartbeat is still going too fast to be normal, and his skin is cool to the touch, clammy. Sure, it could be Louis, and that thought occurs to him, but for all his talk of his past lives and the things he’s done, Harry has never actually been scared of him before.

It’s dark in the room, almost entirely, but thankfully Louis isn’t still dreaming and he can see through it in stormy grays. Harry’s hair is darker at his temples and along his forehead, damp curls splayed out wildly against the pillow. There’s a sheen of sweat along the line of his bare collarbone, too, and Louis wants to follow its path with his tongue.

Simultaneous nightmares. _Huh_.

He frowns. “Is this why you haven’t been sleeping lately?”

Harry looks away. Louis touches his fingertips to the edge of Harry’s jaw, turning his head back. Harry’s eyes are little more than a glimmer in the dark, a single burning star in the vast reaches of space, but Louis would know them anywhere. He’d know every fleck in all that green, the color of life, the color of peace.

Harry nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess. It’s just… every time I shut my eyes lately, there’s something there. Like it’s waiting for me.”

Louis sits up, his hand returning to Harry’s wrist. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Harry swallows, shrugging. “Dunno. It was mostly dark.”

“Mine, too.” Louis feels the creeping nag of anxiety again, the slick revulsion of all those shadows, all that blood. The thickness in his chest at not being able to breathe, the shaking terror of having no escape.

Harry frowns like he’s trying hard to remember. “There was a tree. A huge tree and it was dying. And it was on fire, but I couldn’t do anything. My magic wouldn’t work. It was all just smoke and fire.”

He shivers and Louis feels it run through his palms, into his bones. Louis wasn’t kidding; he hasn’t had a nightmare in longer than a century and he feels cagey and weak, thirsty and burning. Maybe he was the tree in Harry’s dream. All he knows is his own heart is beating too fast and it’s got his head spinning. He wants to drink, wants to breathe, wants not to think. Needs to cling to something real, something alive.

“What was yours?” Harry asks.

“How about,” Louis says quietly, leaning down, “I tell you after?”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow; he’s still a little sleepy, a little confused. “After?”

“Clearly, I’m the brains of this relationship,” Louis says with a smirk and Harry huffs, his breath warm against Louis’ face, and it doesn’t matter to him that it’s the middle of the night, that they’re both sweaty and high on adrenaline, anxiety still pulsing through them. He’ll seek every little bit of warmth he can get after not having it for centuries; he’ll follow Harry’s light wherever he wants to go.

“You’re the prick of this relationship, that’s for sure.”

“See, now you’re catching on.” Louis tightens his grip on Harry’s wrists, feels the rabbiting of his pulse thrumming against his fingers. Harry’s lips part on a weak gasp, his eyelashes fluttering over his cheeks, casting shadows over his skin. He arches against Louis instinctively at the pressure, the merest whisper of pain, and _that’s_ what Louis is looking for, that blissed-out look on his face, the shine of his lips as he licks them, his breath coming a little faster.

Louis kisses him softly, just the barest press of lips. He loves the way Harry’s mouth opens for him, the way he’s always so ready to give these moments, these pieces of himself, over to Louis without a second thought. Harry makes this breathless noise, the air leaving him in a sigh as his fingers close on empty air.

Louis kisses him for longer, deeper, until Harry’s chasing him for it, leaning up to catch him, panting. Louis smirks a little as he leans down again, licking into his mouth. The slick feeling of Harry’s tongue and his taste make the knot of anxiety at the base of Louis’ skull melt, the warmth trickling down his spine as he relaxes, rolling his hips over Harry’s. Harry moans at the friction, this low, hungry sound that has Louis’ dick twitching in his joggers.

He lets go of Harry’s wrists, diving into his hair instead, pushing it back from his face and pulling, just a little, tilting Harry’s head to deepen their kiss, to widen his jaw and devour him. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and Harry groans. Everything is warm in their nest of blankets, everything is dark and slow, enveloping them in a nucleus of soft pleasure and stillness. Louis can see in shifts of gray and shadows, but he still feels like he and Harry are devolving into silhouettes, into nothing more than hands and mouths in the dark. And that’s fine with him, honestly. He likes the loss of his other senses, everything dulling to the background of touch and taste, his entire world narrowing to the sound of Harry’s breathy whispers.

Harry grips his bare shoulders, nails digging in for a bright burst of quick pain that’s gone as soon as it happens, his palms sliding across Louis’ shoulderblades and he would never admit it to anyone, but just the _feel_ of Harry’s bare hands sliding across the skin of his back, trailing along the indents of his spine down to the dimples over the waist of his joggers, turns him on more than anything in this world. Louis would swear before any god that Harry has magic in the lines of his palms.

Harry’s hands move beneath the waistband of Louis’ joggers, kneading his ass and he ruts against Harry’s hips, grinding down a little harder. He feels the shape of Harry’s hard cock beneath his ass and he moves, sliding a little down his body, leaning back onto his knees.

“Get out of these,” Louis says, tugging on Harry’s joggers, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. He shimmies out of them, Louis pulling them free from his legs, and for once, Harry is wearing pants beneath them, but only because the wind was howling earlier, lashing icy rain against the windows, and he was cold. At least, that was what he _said_ , clinging to Louis like his life depended on it. For survival, he’d said. Right. He pulls them down, revealing Harry’s cock, a pearly bead of precome already glistening at its head.

“You, too,” Harry says, his voice rough as he kicks his clothes away. “Want to feel you.”  

Louis grabs Harry’s hand, pulling him up onto his knees so their chests are pressed together. Harry pushes down his joggers, and he isn’t wearing any pants beneath, Harry’s hands warm and cupping him beneath his ass as he shoves the fabric down, Louis disentangling his legs from them and tossing them over his shoulder. Harry’s hands move across his chest, from the ridge of his collarbone down, over his hard nipples, to the soft edges of his abs and the trail of hair leading down from his belly button. His hands vanish for one second, during which Louis is confused, until he feels the rake of nails all the way down, following the same soft path from before. Louis hisses and moves, gripping the back of Harry’s neck and the small of his back, yanking him forward so their hips are flush, their heartbeats aligned.

A breath stutters out of Harry’s open mouth and Louis can tell he’s grinning in the dark, not a trace of guilt in it. _Cheeky_ , he thinks. He tilts Harry’s head to the side and kisses his jaw. He nips at it, leaving a line of little bites down to his chin and his neck.

“Here,” Louis says, touching Harry’s bottom lip. “Open.”

Harry parts his lips and Louis slips his middle finger into the velvet heat of Harry’s mouth. He traces the ridges of his teeth, rubbing the pad of his finger across Harry’s tongue. Harry smiles a little around his finger, sucking on it, rubbing his tongue across Louis’ knuckles, sending a volley of heat straight down Louis’ spine, where it coils in his belly. His knees are a little weak and he lowers himself down to the mattress, supporting himself on his ankles, bringing Harry with him.

He pulls his finger out, soaked and slick, and winds his arm around Harry’s middle. His hand snakes down, slipping between his cheeks to circle Harry’s hole. Harry curls against him, his breath hot on Louis’ jaw.

“Okay?” Louis whispers, face buried in Harry’s neck. He smells like sleep, soft and heady with vanilla, tastes salty with sweat and sweet with magic.

“I—” A sharp intake of breath as Louis pushes his finger in, a shudder going through him at the wet glide, at the slight resistance. His voice is just a whisper, a low whine. “God, Louis, _yes._ ”

He eases his finger in to the first knuckle and Harry leans his head against Louis’ shoulder, back bowed and muscles taut. “Fuck,” Harry says softly and he’s so sensitive all the time, Louis wonders if he could come from this alone. He wonders that a _lot_ , pretty extensively. Someday he’s going to test that, but not tonight, because tonight Louis is trembling and needs to be inside him, needs to see Harry fall apart around him.

Harry spreads his legs wider as Louis steadily rocks his finger in and out, his breath catching on every drag. Because Louis can be a calculating prick when he wants to be, he waits to bite Harry until the moment he crooks his finger up, until Harry jolts. He bites down at his favorite spot on Harry’s neck and Harry cries out, digging his nails into Louis’ shoulders, quieting himself by biting Louis in return, teeth clamping down over the curve of his collarbone. Louis groans, the noise muffled against Harry’s skin. Louis has never dwelled on it too much before, but now it strikes him how incredibly sexual it is for him to drink blood. Penetrating, sucking, licking, taking him down into his throat, the heat of Harry in his mouth. His cock pulses at the thought, warmth flooding his tongue and he swallows, drinking deep.

He only takes a couple of mouthfuls before he releases Harry with a wet noise. He licks him clean while Harry whimpers, fucking down on his hand, his index finger pressed tight to the rim of Harry’s hole, but not inside. Not yet.

“Louis,” Harry says, tilting his head back, his curls draping down over his back, the tips almost touching Louis’ arm. “Fuck me,” he breathes, a little dreamily, like he isn’t sure if he’s awake or not. Louis would imagine the slow dribble of blood moving down his chest would have helped him figure it out, but what does he know? Maybe Louis bites him in his dreams, too.

Louis pulls his finger out and Harry twitches. He pushes him back on the bed, Harry spreading his legs invitingly. “Can you see me?” Harry asks. “In this, I mean.” He twirls a finger around.

“Yeah. I can see the heat around you.”

“Mm, that’s—”

“ _Don’t_ say hot.”

“—nice,” Harry finishes, and Louis would have to be blind to miss that grin in the dark. “That’s nice.” He holds out a hand, pulling Louis toward him. “C’mere.”

“How do you want it?” Louis whispers.

“Like this,” Harry says. “Want you to see me, even if I can’t see you.”

“Do you want some light? I’m willing, if it’s what you want.”

Harry grips his wrist as Louis melts against him between his legs, shaking his head. “No, I like this. Just being able to feel you, it’s…” He strokes his thumb over the delicate bones of Louis’ wrist and shivers like it was done to him. “A lot.”

Harry unfolds Louis’ fingers, placing something in his hand. It’s a bottle of lube. Louis never knows where he gets them from, he just always has lube on hand. Even now, naked as the day he came, he has it; it must come from some kind of magic pocket dimension where it sits, just waiting to be summoned forth. Louis isn’t complaining, just amazed at the resourcefulness—and grateful.

Louis sets the lube down and sits back. He moves his hands over Harry’s chest, stopping to play with his nipples. They’re always so hard, so sensitive, and Harry jumps at Louis’ touch, his fingers circling teasingly. He stutters out a breath, crying out when Louis rolls them, tugging ever so slightly. Harry throws his arm over his face, groaning into the skin of his elbow as Louis does it once more.

He trails his hands over Harry’s abdomen and the light dusting of hair there, gripping his hips tightly before moving down over his thighs, his fingers sliding inward, pushing them wider. He cants them back, Harry making this small mewling sound, hips pushing up at just the motion of it.

“Can I?” Harry asks.

Louis nods before he remembers Harry can’t see him very well, if at all. “Yeah,” he says and the word is more than a little broken in the back of his throat. “Yeah, here.” He hands him the lube, watching as Harry slicks his middle finger. Tossing the lube back, he massages himself, circling the tight ring of muscle. He pushes inside, already a little loose from Louis earlier, but Harry’s fingers are thicker and his mouth falls open in a wet pant, his eyes closed in dreamy concentration as he strokes himself, palming his balls to keep them out of the way. Louis has an image in his head of every time Harry did this before he knew him, every time Harry did this when they were just flatmates, just friends, and the idea of him fucked out on his own fingers, wishing they were Louis’, is enough to make his mouth go dry and his cock throb. They got together within a year of knowing each other but it’s still not enough; he’ll mourn every lost day he could have spent with Harry.

By the time Harry’s been in and out a few times, up to the second knuckle, Louis is ready, fingers wet with lube. He presses one to Harry’s hole, meeting the one already there. Harry’s breath hitches and he starts to pull out, but Louis grabs his hip.

“No, leave it,” Louis murmurs. He meets the same resistance as earlier, but the path is wetter, more forgiving, and then he’s inside, Harry stretched around both of them, letting out these delicious noises with every push and slide. It’s so tight like that, so hot, and it’s never been both of them at once before, not like this. He wants to be inside him always, wants to drag out every cry and breathless moan.

“You’re so soft, Hazza,” Louis says. He twists his wrist and Harry arches. God, Louis loves the elegant line of his throat, the way he swallows, the way he can see his pulse fluttering underneath, like a moth searching for light. He crooks a finger up, moving Harry’s own finger with the motion, and Harry bucks, gasping, _right there_ , free hand thrown up to dig into the corners of his pillow. “So sensitive, too.”

His only reply is a groan as Louis finally nudges his wrist out of the way and takes over, sliding a second finger inside. Harry’s cock is making a mess of precome across his stomach and he takes it in hand, pumping in time with Louis’ thrusts, hissing out a breath. His ass clenches around Louis’ fingers, pulling him in deeper. He strokes Harry’s inner walls, grinning when it pulls a whine out of him.

“Fuck,” Harry groans when Louis circles his hole with his ring finger, teasing the sensitive skin there. “Louis, please, ’m ready—”

Louis pulls out so suddenly that Harry huffs a little, his voice breaking.

“Grab my pillow,” Louis says, reaching for the lube again. While Harry twists, bringing Louis’ pillow over to them, Louis coats his own cock, breath hitching at the slickness. He’s so hard, he can barely think straight, the remnants of every nightmare he’s ever had in his life fading into mist and shadows. There’s nothing now but Harry.

“Put it under the small of your back. Yeah, just there,” he says, when Harry situates himself. “Perfect, love.”

“Fuck me,” Harry demands and Louis can see his glazed eyes in the dark, the wet shine of his lips, the high pink roses in his cheeks.

He pulls Harry’s legs up onto his shoulders and presses the head of his cock into Harry’s ass. Harry bites his lip as Louis digs his fingers in deep to Harry’s hip and thigh, pushing in slowly. There is no house around them, there is no storm outside, there’s just the stars in the night sky and Harry, sweet beautiful Harry, mewling on his back and breathing hard as Louis rocks into him, all the way in until his thighs are flush with the backs of Harry’s, until his fingerprints are in Harry’s skin. His heartbeat is so loud in his ears, his and then beneath it, more distantly, Harry’s.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shaking. “You’re always so tight, babe.”

“Mm,” Harry manages, eyes closed, mouth open as he breathes. “More.” There’s this little crease of concentration between his furrowed brows and Louis smiles, can’t help himself.

Louis slowly drags out and back in, Harry moaning low and deep. Louis grabs Harry’s knee, turning his head to press a kiss to the arch of one of his feet.

Harry fucks himself back onto Louis, slow at first until he’s stretched more comfortably, and then faster, his breath coming in pants. Louis meets his rhythm, takes over for him again, snapping his hips, driving cries from Harry’s mouth that get louder every time.

“Did you cast a spell on the room?” Louis asks on the tail end of a gasp, Harry clenching around him.

“Shit,” Harry chokes out. He waves a hand and something, Louis doesn’t see what, goes crashing to the floor off to their right. “Wait, that’s not—ugh, give me a second—”

Louis can’t quite stifle his laugh as Harry sits up on his elbows with no small difficulty, a curl stuck to his sweaty forehead as he points at the door. The spell zaps out of his fingers, a spark in the dark. Louis feels the change in the room, feels the barrier go up around them, but he can’t help but keep laughing at the earful that Niall and Liam have probably already gotten this time around. Not that it’s different from any other time, really.  

“Okay, go, go,” Harry chants, practically clapping his hands as he flops back down, winding his hips back to push down on Louis. “And stop _laughing_ , or I’ll make you quiet, too.”

“ _So_ threatening,” Louis says and Harry growls beneath him. The sound loses its edge as Louis thrusts just so, bottoming out and seeing stars as he chuckles breathlessly.

Harry’s only answer is to whine again, his fingers curling in the sheets, clenching hard.

“Yeah, thought so.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry says, exasperated, and his voice is like a wisp, barely there in the room beside them, but Louis can see the smile on his face. He loves every whisper, every bead of sweat sliding from his skin to Harry’s, sinking in, the two of them utterly entwined.

Louis knows Harry and his body so well enough by now that he knows what he wants, when he wants it, and as soon as Harry clenches down on him for the second time, Louis fucks him harder, faster, fingers locked tight around one of his ankles. Harry reaches up, touching Louis’ chest, fingers trailing across his nipples, down to his abs and hips, and it’s—he’s—

Louis’ lips part on a gasp. It evolves into a groan as he squeezes his eyes shut tight. Everywhere Harry’s fingers have moved, there’s fire, there’s heat, like a dozen hungry mouths tracing every line of his skin. It’s too much, pleasure rippling low in his belly, every muscle tensing in delicious anticipation. “What—what did you do?” he grits out, blinking quickly.

Harry laughs, the sound divine and tantalizingly wicked in the warmth of their room. “Magic, Louis.”

Everything is so much and Louis is going to come too hard, too fast. “Fuck. C’mere.” He pulls out, dragging Harry closer across the bed, twisting him so he’s on his side. Louis crawls between his spread legs, sitting on one while the other is spread, up on Louis’ shoulder again. He drills back into him and Harry moans for it, his back arching, dark hair spread out across the bed behind him like a banner. He buries his face in their rumpled sheets, knuckles white as his fists tear at the blankets.

A dozen candles light in various places around the room, Harry glowing gold in their sudden light as Louis hauls his hips up so he can fuck down into him at that angle, his fingers pressing hard into Harry’s thigh. Louis is probably hallucinating from how good everything feels, but it looks as though flowers are blooming along Harry’s skin, spreading out from where Louis’ fingers are digging into his skin. He blinks sweat out of his eyes, sweat he shouldn’t even have, but they’re still there, glowing faintly. Roses of color, everywhere Louis touches him.

“Fuck, Louis,” Harry whispers. He’s trembling all over, his words shivering out of him. “God, you’re—” Harry breathes in sharply, the words punched out of him by Louis’ hips, “you’re so deep like that.”

His aura brightens again, a flare of light in the dark, and Louis feels that same torturous heat spread across his shoulders, his back, trailing down his hips. He bites his lip hard, his canines breaking the skin, sweat chasing those phantom touches down his spine. “Harry, I’m—” He closes his eyes, head spinning with the onslaught of pleasure. “Fuck, Harry, I’m gonna come.”

“Yes,” Harry gasps. “Come in me, Lou, I want you to.”

Louis shudders and groans, breath hitching, biting his lip so hard he bleeds through it, spilling in Harry, holding onto him so hard he knows he’ll bruise but those roses bloom higher on his hips, spreading down his thighs as Louis squeezes his eyes shut, gasping out his last waves of pleasure. He’s aware he’s talking, but it’s nonsense, it has to be because Louis would swear he died again for just a minute there, everything going fuzzy and dim.

When his brain reboots, his head is so light that it feels like it’s empty, like his entire body has literally been wrung dry by Harry, and he has to lean back on his heels for a moment, relearning how to breathe.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, laughing weakly at himself. “I think you quite literally fucked my brains out.”

Harry laughs, too, legs falling back to the bed, boneless and shaking. “Sure did.”

“I’m serious. I haven’t been—I haven’t felt like this since I was…” He just shakes his head, unable to finish his sentence.  

“Did you know you were talking in French just there? Dunno what you were saying, but hot.” Harry bites his lip.

Louis’ legs tremble like he’s just run a marathon as he sits back up, Harry sucking in a breath at the sensation. “You haven’t come yet,” he says, eyeing the cock that Harry is stroking leisurely, almost lazily.

“Not yet. But it was worth it just to see your face when I started that.” He raises a free hand, grinning in the dark. He wiggles his fingers. “Magic. It’s a wonderful thing.”

“Surprised me, honestly. You haven’t been using your magic very much lately.”

“Sure I have. Or maybe I’ve just been saving it for you.”

Louis would like to believe that, he really would. Here, in this moment, he’s going to choose to. They can deal with everything else in the morning “Hm. And what do you think I should do about this, then?” he asks, taking Harry’s dick in his hand, rubbing his thumb across the head. Harry comes alive beneath his hand.

Harry hums inquisitively, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Surprise _me_ now,” he says, flopping his head back on the bed. “All’s fair.”

Louis raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t say anything. He knows what Harry likes. He slowly pulls his softening cock out, come leaking out with the motion – and Louis suddenly has an idea. He glides two fingers back in easily, resuming where his cock left off, and Harry’s cock twitches in his hand. Louis bends, teeth grazing Harry’s nipple as he sucks it into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth, Harry arching beneath him at the intermingling sensations. With a grin, he moves to the other nipple, until Harry is panting, the whole of him shaking.

Louis moves lower. He licks up the side of Harry’s cock, taking half of it in his mouth with one swallow and Harry’s feet flex as he widens his legs for Louis to sink between, one heel up on Louis’ shoulder. His stomach clenches, legs twitching every time Louis fucks his fingers inward, twisting his wrist every now and again.

“Fuck,” Harry whimpers brokenly, one hand clutching at Louis’ hair.

He licks the underside of Harry’s cock once more before he moves off, slinking lower, Harry holding himself open with one hand beneath his thigh, the other moving quickly around his cock again. He’s trembling, the entirety of his aura changing to a deep, shimmering rose-gold. Louis can actually feel it every time he touches Harry, the subtle heat of it, the heady taste of him. He wants to drown in it.

Louis slides his fingers out, replacing them with his mouth. Harry cries out, jerking, as Louis spreads his cheeks and fucks his tongue inside. He can taste his own come and Harry with all his magic and mystery, and it’s dizzying, the two of them meeting here, the slick feeling of Louis’ tongue working at such a raw, intimate part of him. Louis flicks his tongue, tracing the rim, and Harry’s fingers dig into his hair, pulling, and Louis loves it, loves every desperate noise he makes, loves the way he pushes down with his foot on Louis’ shoulder, loves the way his movements on his cock have gone rough and disjointed.

Louis holds onto Harry, face buried in his ass, and sucks hard.

He feels Harry tense, feels the ripple of sensation as he comes, releasing a litany of wrecked noises and cries as come arcs across his stomach and chest. He bows, head bent back, neck arched, and Louis smiles, lets him ride it out, keeps licking and tonguing at his ass until he’s gone limp and trembling, his hand dropping to the mattress after pulling Louis’ hair once more because he’s oversensitive now and it aches, everything’s so much.

Louis finishes up, working his way back up Harry’s body, licking the come from him as he goes and Harry is so out of it, still reeling, releasing long low breaths with an arm over his face, that he doesn’t even realize what he’s up to until Louis is pressed against him, their chests touching. Louis moves his arm aside and seals their lips together, kissing him deeply like before, head tilted to meet him.

He opens his mouth and Harry’s eyes widen at the taste as Louis lets the come flow out. Harry’s hand moves to the back of Louis’ neck and he digs his nails in, surprised, but he swallows all of it, only coughing a little as he finishes. His eyes are wet, his lashes shimmering.

“Okay,” Harry says, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “That was—”

“Spur of the moment, sorry. I probably should have asked first, before—’

“I _did_ say surprise me.”

“True. Least I cleaned you up, too.”

“Yeah, there’s that. It’s okay. I’m just…” He shakes his head, releasing a heavy breath, and there’s a definite tremor to his voice that was there earlier, but shouldn’t necessarily be there now, in the aftermath.

Louis frowns, touching Harry’s cheek. “Are you—”

“Crying? No. Well, is there moisture definitely coming out of my eyes? Yeah, but it’s—it’s not anything weird, I promise. It’s not something you did. Well, it is, but not something bad. It was just really intense, that’s all, in the dark.” He threads his fingers with Louis’, pulling his hand to his chest between them so Louis can feel his racing pulse beneath his palm. Despite its quickness, the feeling is as comforting to Louis as the rain coming down outside, pattering against their window. “See? I’m still not sure I won’t pass out.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me. I feel like you sucked all my bones out of my body with that orgasm magic of yours. Dunno if I’ll be able to walk ever again, to be honest. I’ve got noodle knees.”

Harry grins in the dark. “Ha. Noodle knees.” He wipes at his eyes. “Sounds funny.”

“Do you feel better at least?”

“Feel like I could sleep for a week, sure.” Idly, Harry touches Louis’ shoulder, down his arm, and Louis can feel his magic cleaning them, wiping the sweat clean from their bodies. It’s an alien feeling, the magic that exists around them almost like a third person in the room, but Louis appreciates it.

Harry uses magic to blow out the candles he lit on accident around the room, the two of them curling back up around each other beneath the blankets in the blackness. The roses and vines have faded from his skin, but Louis knows they were there.

He asks about them as Harry is snuggling his face against Louis’ neck.

“Hm? Oh. Must’ve been my magic. I like when you touch me. My skin reflected that.”

“Flowers grew where I touched you. That’s very poetic.”

“Mm, thanks.” He yawns wide and Louis has the thought that if he just leaned a little closer, Harry’s teeth would close on his throat.

He laughs suddenly and Louis raises an eyebrow, eyes closed. “What?”

“Just thinking at least I didn’t set anything on fire this time that wasn’t meant to be. Missionary in the dark worked after all.” He snickers and Louis’ lips curl into a smirk.

“I hardly think rimming counts as missionary, but I guess if the method works, I shouldn’t criticize.”

Harry pokes him. “Yeah, don’t criticize. It was a top performance.”

“Thanks, love. I do try.”

They’re quiet after that in the dark and Louis listens to Harry breathe, feels the rise and fall of his chest and back. His heart is content and slow, his skin warm and soft beneath Louis’ hands. After the storm, the calm.

“So about your dream,” Louis says. He’d nearly forgotten about their conversation beforehand.

“Mm. More like about _your_ dream.” Harry shifts, a few of his curls tickling Louis’ face. “What happened?”

The fear is distant now, stretched too far away for him to hold it in his chest. “I was in a long hallway. No windows, no doors except the one at the end. Something was chasing me and I couldn’t get away. It was so dark, more dark than I’ve ever seen.” He doesn’t mention the blood, the thick smell of it and the way it made him hungry.

“What was chasing you?”

“Dunno. I was too scared to turn around and look.”

“Did you reach the end of the hallway?”

Louis nods. “I got to the door, but as I opened it, I woke up. Rather, you woke me up.”

“Well, yeah. I’d already woken up from mine and here you were, writhing around and mumbling.” Harry’s voice is thick and deep when he says, “You said it was an old one?”

“Yeah. I’ve had it before. Not in a really long time, though.”

Harry yawns. “Wonder why now.”

“Yeah.” Louis rubs his thumb across his bottom lip. He’s not bleeding anymore, has already healed from where he bit himself, but he can still feel a ghost of that pressure. “I wonder.”

Harry doesn’t say anything; he’s fallen asleep. Louis holds him and listens to him dream, wondering what’s going on—wondering why he can only reach Harry in the dark now, the two of them torn from sleep.

Louis finally slides into sleep to the sound of the rain, steady and soft on the window roof overhead.

* * *

 When Harry wakes up, it’s with the sense that maybe his night wasn’t totally terrible, but with a headache nonetheless. It feels like he wakes up with a headache every day lately, his eyes dry and his thoughts clouded. He wonders if this is how Louis feels when he hasn’t had blood for a while. He wonders if he experiences dehydration symptoms when he doesn’t drink enough, or any. There are a lot of things he wonders about Louis.

Despite the ache behind his eyes, Harry stretches like a cat, making a pleased little purring noise as he reaches out, arm sweeping across the bed. There’s nothing there but rumpled sheets and blankets, but there’s a lingering warmth in the fabric that heats his palm. Louis must have just gotten up. Harry smiles at the idea of Louis being warm enough to leave some behind.

His happiness is short-lived as he sits up, noticing two things immediately. The first is that he forgot to heal himself the night before and blood is smeared across his pillow and dotted here and there on their new sheets, his neck aching. The second is that their room is a _disaster,_ not so in the messy sense, but in the witchy sense. It looks like his workshop down in the cellar after his unfortunate crystal explosion: There are heaps of glitter splashed across every surface including the walls, like the grenades of a particularly gay warzone have gone off everywhere or a bunch of unicorns stopped by for a circle-jerk.

Harry wrinkles his nose, sneezing. With the motion, glitter falls free from his hair and onto the bed.

Well. So much for his magic not being out of control last night.

Harry sighs and rolls out of bed, pulling on a pair of pants, shaking them fervently before he pulls them on. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with this, not before having some caffeine.

He shivers; the house is old and not nearly as well-insulated as it ought to be. Coldness aside, Harry has a sneaking suspicion that Niall doesn’t really want to see him naked and experience for himself all the places Harry has bruises and lovebites. Not lately, anyway, since he’s become such a grump; all he does is work, sleep, and complain about work. There are several reasons Harry spends so much time in the cellar these days, and annoying flatmates are definitely high on the list.

Harry hurriedly yanks on a jumper of Louis’ and a pair of joggers after shaking the glitter out of them as well, following them up with a pair of fuzzy socks patterned with pineapples. His back, when he bends to slip them on, aches almost as badly as his head and he sighs. Despite sleeping without nightmares for a few brief hours, he still didn’t sleep very restfully. He’s just so damn _tired_ lately. If he hadn’t been chugging his special contraceptive brew during the last full moon, he’d suspect pregnancy. _Might be coming down with something_ , he thinks, but every time he does a once-over with magic, he comes up fine.

Yawning, he goes out to the sitting room and to the kitchen, following a trail of glitter through the sitting room. There, he meets a sight that cheers him at least a little. Louis is standing at the stove, wearing nothing but a pair of joggers, holding a spatula in one hand and his phone in the other. Glitter makes his bare back sparkle. The kettle’s on, as is Harry’s record player in the corner. There’s _something_ on the stovetop, but judging from the smell, Harry’s not entirely sure it’s something he wants to put in his mouth.

Harry leans against the archway, hands folded into his armpits for warmth. Roger Waters is crooning on the record player, “ _How I wish, how I wish you were here…”_

“I’m making tea,” Louis says without turning around. “And food. For you. You’re not eating enough.”

Harry rolls his eyes at that. Typical Lou. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Hm?”

“The glitter.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, crazy, right? Knocked my records off the dresser, too.” Louis laughs. “I love your orgasms. Well, when they don’t involve fire, anyway.”

“I’ll clean it up.”

“I’ll help, if you want?”

Harry shrugs, watching him flip something that resembles pancakes, if they’d had an unfortunate run-in with the bottom of someone’s boot. Louis is still typing away on his phone like he’s sending some kind of important missive. Harry rolls his head to the side, eyes trailing over Louis’ thin hips, the delicate waist. The points of his shoulderblades are Harry’s favorite, the way his back stretches and flexes. Any marks he left that morning are gone, sadly, thanks to his vampiric healing, but Harry knows they were there. That’s what matters.

“Who’re you talking to?” he asks.

“Hm?”

_“We’re just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year...”_

“Your phone.”

Louis sets it down on the counter, then, turning his full attention back to what Harry can only tentatively guess are actually pancakes. “Oh, nobody. I’ve been playing Candy Crush. And Words With Friends.” Harry laughs and Louis frowns at him over his shoulder. “What? They’re fun.”

“How do you play with anybody?”

Louis flashes him a look. “Are you suggesting I don’t have friends?” Without giving Harry time to answer, he says, “I have a Facebook, you know. I know all about social media. I’m just never on there.”

“Niall help you set it up?”

“Ha-ha. Technology is not that difficult to understand when you’ve literally watched its progression through time. I was friends with Ada Lovelace, I’m cool, I know things.”

“Was that before or after you slept with her dad?”

Louis makes a choked sort of laughing sound, but all he says is, “I bet you don’t even know what a vacuum tube is, you brat.”

Harry sticks his tongue out at him and Louis actually laughs this time, a full-fledged sound of breath and mirth, something real. Something Harry hasn’t heard in a while, save for the middle of the previous night.

“Right, okay.” Louis flips off the heat on the burner and dumps the pancakes—panlumps?—onto a plate. He pulls cartons out of the refrigerator, gesturing at Harry to sit at the little white breakfast table in the corner by the back door. The kettle starts to whistle, its lid shaking, clanking against the lip. “So,” he asks, “how’d you sleep?”

Harry shrugs, sitting and curling his knees against his chest on the chair. “Okay.”

“That’s it? Just okay?”

“You saw the glitter, right?”

“I wasn’t asking about the sex, Harry. I was there; I know how it was,” Louis says, voice deceptively cheerful. “I meant the nightmares. Quite literally, how was your sleep?”

“Fine.”

“No nightmares after?”

“Nope.” He nods at the stovetop. “Kettle’s going.”

“I hear it, thank you.” Louis busies himself fetching mugs and pouring their tea, letting it steep for a bit as he finishes up Harry’s plate. He doesn’t say anything else, but Harry gets the distinct sense he’s being watched out of the corner of Louis’ eye.

When Louis comes to the table, bringing Harry’s plate and tea, he instantly feels bad. The pancakes have been coated in syrup, fresh-cut strawberries, and an entire dose of effort. Harry swallows thickly as Louis hands him a fork. _What is wrong with you_ , he wonders.

“Sorry,” he says, turning the fork over in his hands. “It’s just…I still woke up feeling bad.”

Louis nods. “You have a headache. I can feel it.”

Harry tilts his head. “You—?”

“Well, maybe feel it isn’t the right term. It’s more like I can sense it? It’s like when I can hear your heartbeat or tell when you have a fever.”

“So you always know what’s going on with me.”

“Not always,” Louis says and there’s that indecipherable tone again. He smiles, eyes crinkling. “But most of the time, yeah.”

Harry eats the pancakes and while they’re overdone on the outside and almost painfully undercooked inside, he eats them all because Louis made them and he figures it can be the first and last time, if Niall ever decides to cook again. Maybe Harry will start cooking instead. Harry’s always liked it, but with Niall around, it always seemed more like an occasional thing than a permanent position in their household. He’d consider it more if he wasn’t so tired all the time and so consumed with his current research. Even _that_ feels cumbersome and exhausting, and it’s something he wants to know more than anything.

Louis reads the newspaper and sips his tea, sighing a little every few minutes, and Harry gets the sense he’s bored with it. He’s just about to ask if him he wants to watch telly instead when he sets the paper down, frowning as he scans an article.

“What is it?” Harry asks, nibbling a strawberry. He leans forward, reading the headline upside down: “Gloomingshire Man Killed in Bizarre Incident Identified”.

Louis’ eyes move across the page, silently mouthing the words.

“Did you know him?” Harry asks.

Louis looks up. “Huh?”

Harry taps the newspaper. “Did you know him? You seem awfully interested in that article.”

“Oh. Yeah, well…crime around here. That’s not good, right? Isn’t that why we moved from the city to begin with?”

“Well, I inherited the house and none of us wanted to be discovered but yeah, basically, same thing.” Harry drinks a mouthful of his tea. “So what happened?”

“Erm, they found an older man. He died from, uh. Exsanguination.”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Complete blood loss,” he says flatly.

“Yeah, the police think it’s to do with him being stabbed and nobody found him for a long time, so he just bled out. Now all the older people are getting fussed about the wild youths and all that. Gangs of hoodies, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Harry says absently, dragging the tines of his fork through leftover syrup, watching it drip slowly back down into a sticky pool. “That’s dead weird.” He sets his fork down, the sound loud in their otherwise quiet house. “Where’s Niall?”

“Work. They called him in.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah. As to our resident haunter, I honestly could not say.” Louis sighs. “Something’s wrong with him.”

Harry shrugs. “He’ll come around.”

Louis looks at him again with that strange consideration, like he’s searching him for something. “Yeah,” Louis echoes. “I suppose he will.”  

Harry grabs his plate and starts to get up, but Louis sweeps it away from him before he can even think to stop him. “I’ve got it,” Louis says over his shoulder, taking the dishes to the sink.

Harry watches him. “But you made the food. That means I clean up.”

“It’s fine, Harry. I said I’ve got it.”

Harry picks up his mug, bringing it to his mouth. “Dunno why you’re treating me like some helpless housewife all the sudden.”

“Is _that_ what you think I’m doing? What, I can’t do something nice for my boyfriend every now and again when he’s not feeling tops?”

“We’re married.”

“Fine, my _spouse_.” Louis flashes him a glance over his shoulder. “You are awful prickly this morning, aren’t you?”

“Well, I am a fan of cacti, I have to admit.”

“And sarcastic to boot. What a sunflower I’ve got myself here.”

Harry scowls. He’s not the only one being sarcastic and thing is, Louis has always been much better at it than him in that subtle way where you don’t know you’ve been insulted until much later when you stop think about it. It’s annoying. Come to think of it, everything’s annoying.

Louis looks up, out the window over the sink. “Those fucking crows,” he murmurs.

“What?”

“The crows. Have you seen them?”

Harry shrugs. “Sometimes, before I go to work. I think the ones in the forest brought their family.”

“Uh-huh.” Strangely, Louis doesn’t sound convinced. “I wish they wouldn’t hang around like this. They’re everywhere.”

“So? I like them. Besides, who are we to tell them where to go?”

“You know,” Louis says, “there are stories. Legends. Flocks of crows like this, they’re supposed to be indicative of dark powers. Supposedly, they converge in areas where great, undead creatures live. Like wraiths, revenants, liches.” He tilts his head. “Vampires.”

“Oh, is that so? _Great_ undead creatures, huh?”

“You know what I mean. The ones with old world power. The ones who’ve seen civilizations fall. Crows are said to follow their power, to herald it. To warn people to stay away.”

“Murder,” Harry says.

Louis whips around, eyes wide. “What?”

“You said flocks. It’s called a murder. A murder of crows.”

“Right.” Louis blinks, rubbing a hand over his hair. “Yeah. Of course.”

Harry is about to ask him what’s got him so concerned when he lets go of his mug and, rather than hovering in mid-air like it was supposed to have done, it plummets to the floor, exploding outward with a great crash. Tea splatters in all directions, soaking into his fuzzy pineapple socks.

Louis jumps like somebody’s shocked him and Harry has a flashback to when they met. It’s weird to see something scare him, especially since he just mentioned great vampires with old world powers.

Still, he moves fast enough, snapping a towel off the oven door. “Jesus, Harry, are you all right?” Louis bends to mop at the tea.

The sound seems to shock something in Harry’s brain and he blinks a couple times. “I liked that mug,” he says, stunned.

Louis lets out a choked laugh. “Yeah, I know. Here, lift your foot up.” Louis cleans up the floor around his feet, helping peel his socks off. “Grab me the broom, will you?”

Harry pads into the hallway outside the kitchen on bare feet. He stops to look at his hands, frowning. Magic is something he doesn’t have to think about, something he’s hardly conscious of on most days. _Why didn’t it work?_ His magic has been acting strange lately, hence his not using it as often, but still. Just a few hours before he used it to pull an orgasm out of Louis; why can’t he do the simplest of tasks after that? He clenches his fingers, opening them again a moment later to inspect the lines of his palms. _It shouldn’t have fallen._

Just then, there’s a banging sound from the cupboard in the hallway. Harry jumps this time, emitting a tiny squeak that he tries to hide by clapping his hand over his mouth. Every nerve in his body is on edge, his heart hammering in his chest. His first thought is, of course, the most irrational and silly thing he could have possibly come up with: _Our house is haunted_.

Then he remembers. Right. Yes, it is. Of course.

Lowering his hand, he scoots toward the cupboard. Taking a deep breath, he pulls the door open.

The broom comes falling out, landing on the wood floor with a loud _smack_.

Harry stares at it. His heartbeat skips in his chest, just a little, a rushing sound filling his ears. _What is this_ , he wonders, mind whirling. _What is happening here?_

“All right, love?” Louis calls.

Harry bends, picking it up. He takes it and the dustpan into the kitchen, still frowning. Louis’ already made him up a second mug of tea. He takes it after handing the broom over to Louis, but he doesn’t drink, just cradles its warmth within his hands.

“What’s the matter?”

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing, it’s just…the broom fell right now.”

“It fell? Like, by itself?”

Harry nods.

“Okay? Is that a witch thing I’m not getting?”

“Sort of. It’s more of a sign for witches. It’s an old wives tale and superstition for everyone else, but for us, it’s magic, it’s a bit of divination.”

“What’s it mean?”

“It means—”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. The grandfather clock in the sitting room behind Louis strikes the morning hour and Louis raises his eyebrows as a chill goes down Harry’s spine at the magic of it all happening at once. He already knows who it is, he can feel it, every hair on his body standing at attention.

“—company’s coming,” Harry finishes.

“Best get the door, then,” Louis says, motionless, and Harry gets the distinct feeling that _he_ knows who’s at the door, too. But how could he?

Harry leaves his tea on the table, going to the door. When he opens it, he’s completely unsurprised to see his sister standing there, what looks like an overnight bag at her feet. There are feathers in her hair and an enormous grin on her face when she sees him.

“Hiya, Harry,” she says. She raises a hand, wiggling her fingers in a wave. “Did you know there’s like, twenty crows out here? Quite the collection.”

Harry stares.

“Jeez, Haz, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s the deal?” She raises her eyebrows, still smiling. “Gonna let me in or what?”

When he looks back at Louis, standing there and decidedly _not_ sweeping, the same smile is on his face. He just shrugs, waving his phone jauntily as he sips his tea. “Technology,” he says, “it’s a wonderful thing.”

* * *

 This was really not how Harry imagined his sister seeing their house for the first time—or meeting his undead boyfriend. Although, that’s apparently not a problem, since they’ve _been talking_ , as Louis informs him several minutes into her arrival.

“You see, Harry,” Louis says, in that infuriating know-it-all tone of his that Harry usually loves, but hates right here in this second. “Facebook is a thing. Your sister sent me a message asking me what exactly my intentions were with you not long after you told her about me, as well as a whole laundry list of questions about my physiology that were, frankly, a little inappropriate.”

Gemma rolls her eyes. “I’m sure your delicate sensibilities will recover.”

He goes on like she didn’t say anything. “Anyway, since then, she and I have been chatting every now and again.”

“What he means is I’ve been destroying him at Words with Friends.” She snickers, shaking her head. “For someone who’s been alive as long as him, he has a terrible vocabulary.”

“The rules don’t allow for other languages!” Louis frowns, muttering, “It’s bullshit.”

“Uh-huh, whatever. You’re just a sore loser, Lou.”

Harry stares at them, his eyes wide, as they banter back and forth. This is a new surprising development, and he is torn between being bothered at being left out and being overwhelmingly happy that the two of them _have been talking,_ without any help from him. The strange tides of his emotions, the weird push and pull lately from bad moods to good, leave him feeling even more confused than ever and unable to choose, wavering somewhere in the middle of happiness and annoyance. He doesn’t know how to react, what to say.

Louis suddenly remembers how to be a good host and offers Gemma a cuppa; she accepts, smiling. Her overnight bag remains beside her, hovering in the air. Her eyes focus on the broken mug on the floor through the archway for just a moment and the glitter scattered across the floor, but she doesn’t say anything. In a family filled to the brim with witches and magic, these kinds of things are a regular occurrence.

When Louis goes into the kitchen, she nudges Harry with her arm. “Just thought I’d pop by, if you don’t mind. Come for a visit.”

“Of course.” Harry never minds, even now when he’s feeling confused and terrible.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you. Louis and I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“It’s definitely that.”

She looks at him. “Hm. How are you feeling? You look a bit peaky.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t go all Mum on me. You just got here.”

“Your aura’s washed out and you’ve got spots ’round your hairline. Looks to me like you’re stressed out by something.”

“You take that back!”

“Which part?”

“The spots part.” Harry touches his face. “My skin is luminescent. I moisturize.”

“Okay, so maybe you don’t have spots. But the aura thing is definitely true. Sure you’re feeling all right?”

He frowns at her, still feeling along his face for any sort of offending spots. “Right as rain. Stop checking up on me.”

Gemma holds up her hands. “All right, all right. No need to get stroppy.”

“He’s been stroppy all morning,” Louis calls from the kitchen.

“I have not,” Harry retorts, folding his arms over his chest, hands still buried deep in his sweater sleeves.  Gemma hides her smile with a cough, but Harry knows when she’s laughing at him. He knows her better than anyone.

While they’re waiting for Louis, Gemma looks around the sitting room, spinning in a slow circle. Harry summons a new pair of socks from the bedroom, pulling them on while she looks around. He forgot that she’s never been here before, forgotten that despite tradition, the four of them never had any sort of housewarming party. They just settled in and kept going.

“I never imagined great-great-aunt Delilah’s house looking this nice and cozy again. You’ve really made it feel like how it used to when we were kids.”

Harry looks up from his feet. That bit of magic worked okay, though it took him two snaps. “Minus the magical tricks she used to leave around. Like do you remember that stair that used to untie our shoes?”

Gemma wrinkles her nose, laughing. “Don’t remind me. I almost broke my wrist, falling all the time. Really, though, it looks great. Although, uh…” She swipes her fingers across the surface of one of the bookshelves. “Something feels a bit off.”

Harry frowns again. “What do you mean?”

“Just a feeling, I suppose.” She continues to move around the sitting room, looking at the picture of the four of them—pre-Liam—on the mantelpiece. They really ought to take a new one, now that Zayn’s gone, quite literally, out of the picture. “This is nice. But why’s it look all weird?”

“Lou being a vampire messed it up.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Does he do that for everything?”

The bad part of Harry’s brain responds with a pouty _yes._ Harry clears his throat. “Nah. We figured he’s just not visible in reflected surfaces. So like old-timey cameras with bits of mirror inside, mirrors themselves, puddles… At least, he wasn’t, anyway. He’s been drinking my blood for a while now, so he’s been getting a lot of the effects of my powers.” Harry snickers. “You should have seen him when he realized he can see his reflection again! We didn’t realize he’d be able to even with my blood, it was a shock.”

“Anyone would have been shocked after a thousand years,” Louis calls from the kitchen.

Harry grins and lowers his voice, even though he knows Louis will still be able to hear him. “He thought some strange bloke was in the loo. Almost went like those videos of the cats attacking their reflections because they don’t know any better.”

“Well, that explains how I could see him when we scried that time.” Gemma makes a face. “That’s kind of gross, though. The blood thing. Louis explained it to me, but it’s still a little gross.”

Harry shrugs, smirking a little. “Oh, I dunno. If the situation’s just right, it can be pretty amazing, actually.” He has a flashback to the middle of the night and his cheeks heat. He’s being a proper monster after all _that_. Really, he should have been the one making breakfast and tea.  

“Oh god,” Gemma groans, laughing. “Now there’s something I didn’t need to think about literally ever.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “What was that you said about delicate sensibilities?”

“There’s a difference between being delicate and not wanting to hear about your younger brother’s kinky sex life.”

“It doesn’t feel kinky, to be honest. Like it’s become part of the routine.” Harry blushes. “Not that the sex is routine; I mean the blood drinking. It’s like, a year ago I never would’ve imagined myself here, but now that I _am_ here, it’s totally normal.”

“That’s good, I suppose. As long as you’re happy, you can do whatever you want.” Gemma turns back to face him, peering at him closely. Like she’ll see something wrong on his face, though they’ve already established that his skin is dewy and glows, despite autumn’s efforts to disrupt that.

“I am. Deliriously happy.” _Most of the time. Usually._

As if he said his thoughts aloud, Gemma narrows her eyes. “Are you? Hm.” She doesn’t say anything else after that but Harry gets the feeling that she knows there’s a hesitant part of him. She’s always known things like that, always known when he’s not being entirely honest.

“Anyway,” she goes on, hooking her hair behind one ear. “Feels proper nice in here, H. Or, it might, anyway. I feel a bit like something’s missing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Hang on. Just refresh my memory: What day is it today?”

“Ninth of October. Why?”

“No reason.” She smiles as Louis comes out of the kitchen with a cup for her. He hands it off to her and she thanks him with a nod. Before Harry can ask what her deal is, she gestures to her bag, still floating beside them. “So, first things first: Where am I sleeping?”

Right, she’s never been there. “Here, I’ll take this.” Harry pats her bag with one hand and it follows him up the stairs. “You can have Zayn’s old room, now that he’s not coming back, or whatever…” His voice trails off as he opens the door upstairs.

In the few seconds it takes for Harry to put her bag away, Gemma turns to Louis and says, “You’re right. It’s worse than I thought.”

“Told you. He’s been a proper nightmare this morning.”

She frowns, deep in thought, but just then Harry reappears, hanging over the balustrade up on the second floor. “How about a tour?” he asks with a half-hearted grin and of course, Gemma can’t say no.

Harry acts the part of enthusiastic tour guide, if somewhat tired and a bit pale, showing off the parlor where none of them ever go where great-great-aunt Delilah’s old china and silver is hidden, and they fool around with the dumbwaiter for a bit, Louis folding himself up inside with a laugh, Harry trying not to grimace as his headache’s gotten worse. They spend a ridiculous amount of time in the garden, an invisible barrier over them to keep the rain off, as Harry shows her every individual plant of his out there, paying special attention to the gladioluses Louis planted for him and the lights that he promises will look _very_ lovely come night-time.

By the time they go back inside, it’s nearly time for lunch and Niall’s back from work, slumped on the sofa. When he sees Harry and Louis come in with Gemma through the kitchen, however, he sits straight up.

“Niall, this is my sister, Gemma. Gemma, this is Niall. He’s a werewolf.”

“Uh, yeah, hi.” Niall’s smiling but there’s a tiny crease between his eyebrows. “That’s totally an okay thing for you to just tell people, by the way.”

“Relax. She’s a witch. She gets it.”

“Hey,” Gemma says, waving. “You’re the one he made the wolfsbane potion for, then?”

“One and only.”

“He also told me you make some wicked pastry.”

“Um, yeah, that too. I mean, when I have the time. Which, I don’t these days, but I used to.”

There’s a slight blush on Niall’s face and Harry realizes it’s entirely possible the only family he knows and talks to is the one Louis adopted. His family is gone and he’s never really had anyone else in the last couple centuries as a friend who would tell their family about him. The only stories he lives in are the ones that Louis tells. _Not anymore_ , Harry thinks.

They chat back and forth for a bit until Niall’s stomach lets out an incredibly loud growl. They all pause and laugh as Niall clutches at his stomach, groaning.

“That’s a good idea, actually,” Gemma says, checking the watch on her wrist. “Lunch’s on me, how about it?”

“There’s a great pizza place a town over,” Harry pipes up.

“I love you,” Niall says immediately. “Both of you. Gemma, you’re my new best friend.”

“Nailed it,” she says. “Who’s up for it?”

“More like _Nialled it_ , right?” Harry laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard while the three of them exchange a flat look.

“So, he does this with you too,” Gemma says dryly. “Here I thought I was the lucky one.”

Niall nods sympathetically and Louis sighs, a slight smile on his face. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I’m glad it’s not a family thing.”

“Hey,” Harry whines and Louis reaches over, ruffling his hair.

“So,” Niall says, clapping his hands together. “Back on track here, people. Pizza.”

“I’ll go,” Harry says, raising a hand. Anything to get out of the house for a bit. His moods keep going up and down like a carousel and he’s feeling antsy, stuffy. Like he can’t breathe. The stint in the garden helped for a time, but it’s not enough.  

“Good, because my feet hurt and I didn’t want to,” Niall says, flopping back on the sofa.

“I’ll drive,” Louis offers.

“Oh, no,” Harry says quietly and Louis shoots him a look that’s so offended, Harry has to laugh. “What? You’re a few years out of practice.”

“What’s to know? You push the pedal and it goes. Simple.”

“There’s slightly more to it than that. Like traffic laws.”

“Psh. I was once disguised as the king of this place, the least they can do is let me slide on a ticket or two.”

“Or several.”

Gemma laughs. “I would pay to see you drive.”

“Would you?” Louis grins. “Hear that, Hazza? My next ticket’s on Gem here.”

“Also, I would really like to hear about this king stuff. Like, really? What was it like back then?”

“Boring,” Louis says with a grim look. “And then there was that whole thing with the plague, sort of wiped out like…a third of the population of Europe. Trust me, you’re much better off.”

Harry leaves them to chat while he hunts down his boots. While he’s in their room, he clears away all the glitter, clapping his hands together. When he comes back, he grabs for the keys in the bowl by the front door, but Louis snatches them away, skipping out the front door. Harry rolls his eyes at Gemma as the two of them follow. Harry shuts the door, locking it behind them just in time for Liam to come through it.

“Oh!” Gemma exclaims, her eyes widening.

“Sorry,” Liam says automatically. “I do that.”

“Gem, this is Liam. He’s a ghost, obviously.”

“Right. Erm, hiya.” She goes to shake his hand, but hers passes right through him. He scowls so viciously that she pulls her hand back quickly. “Uh, sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he says, but he looks precisely the opposite. His aura, Harry can see, is such a dark silver that it’s nearly gray at this point, losing all of its shine. Harry bites his lip at that as they climb into the car-that-used-to-be-Zayn’s.

They show Gemma the sights around Greater Gloomingshire, like where Harry works and the shops and the church and graveyard just outside of town that all of them are convinced is haunted because, according to Harry, the energy levels there are so strong that sometimes he can feel them all the way at home. Harry points out his favorite trees and promises to show her the woods beyond the field by their house and the beach and the rotting remains of the gazebo behind their house that Harry has been meaning to fix up. Gemma nods, hanging on every word. It’s easier to breathe away from the house, Harry notices, though there’s still that pressure behind his eyes.

The local pizza place is crowded when they get there, so the four of them shuffle into the queue. It’s warm inside, at least, but the noise of everyone’s conversations and the sound of a bell ringing every time a pizza is finished is making his headache even worse. He looks around at the small metal round tables, at the lights shielded by red and green glass. Harry wonders if it’s obvious, if their magic and strangeness is plain on their faces because people’s eyes are drawn to them practically everywhere they go. This place is no different, patrons’ gazes sliding toward them when they think Harry and Co. aren’t looking.

“Do I have something down my front?” Harry asks, looking down at the jumper he appropriated from Louis.   

“Not that I can see,” Gemma says.

“Then why are people staring at us?”

“It’s me. I’m terribly good-looking,” Louis says.

“You’re terribly _something_ ,” Liam mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Really, though.” Louis wraps an arm around Harry’s waist, sliding his hand into one of Harry’s back pockets. “It’s probably you. But not because you’ve spilled something, because you’re gorgeous and you’re magic and nobody can resist that.”

“Gross,” Gemma says and Louis screws his face up, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at her.

Harry rolls his eyes at the two of them. “You two are really the picture of your age. Wrote the book on maturity.”

“Hey, he’s way older than me,” Gemma says. “Like…quadruple digits.”

A girl and her girlfriend, holding their plates as they walk past, shoot Gemma a look of alarm. She hunches her shoulders a little, biting her lip through a grin. “Whoops,” she says conspiratorially. “Sorry. Probably should keep it down.”

“Eh.” Louis waves a hand. “We’re a town over. I’m not fussed, honestly.”

“It is kind of illegal though, innit?”

 _That_ catches Harry’s attention. “What, being old’s illegal now?”

“ _No_ , silly. Witches and vampires. Acting all clandestine, having secret pizza parlor meetings.” She wiggles her fingers like some sort of scary cartoon witch. She nods her head at Liam, who isn’t even listening to them but instead watching a family of four as they chatter and laugh at a nearby table. “And a ghost. Can’t forget him.”

“Really, what are you talking about?” Harry asks, taking a step closer to her. “Are we not supposed to be—?”

“Well, technically. Mum never told you about that? Actually, I suppose she wouldn’t, would she? Plus, she doesn’t know about you two. I remember hearing great-great-aunt Delilah talking about it, way back when. She made me swear not to tell, made me tie a knot in the stem of a daisy as a promise. Of course, once the daisy died, the magic binding me to the promise broke—” Gemma waves a hand. “Anyway, the point is, because of some incidents throughout the years, the Council and the vampire Courts decided to sign these treaties where they would basically not interact with each other and to agree to keep the others a secret.”

Harry’s mouth falls open just a little. Because _what?_ He can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Are you—are you serious?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ sort of thing.” She frowns. “Why?”

Of _course_. Suddenly everything about his current research makes so much more sense: Why Harry can’t seem to find much of anything in the archives and old history books on vampires, why it seems like no matter where he turns, it’s a dead end—no pun intended—and how almost nobody is willing to help him. As soon as he says the word _vampire_ , he’s laughed off because “they aren’t real”, but how is he supposed to refute that without proof? How is he supposed to do this without putting Louis in some kind of potential danger?

“That actually explains…a lot.” Harry shakes his head. “But hang on, how come you didn’t tell me about this when I told you Louis was a vampire?”

“Well, first because I wasn’t entirely sure I believed you about him being a vampire.”

“You didn’t believe me?”

“You told me your boyfriend was over a thousand years old! That he was an undead former king of France!” The man standing in front of them in the queue flashes them an odd look out of the corner of his eye. “Sorry, but it was a lot to process.”

“Yeah, probably should’ve broken it up a bit. Done it in increments,” Louis says.

“And also because, well.” Gemma clears her throat. “I sort of figured you’d probably break up anyway.” She looks at Louis. “No offense. This was before I knew you.”

“None taken.” Louis frowns, looking at Harry. “So could that be why the Council wanted to see you?”

“What?” Gemma says, looking back and forth between the two of them. “When?”

He almost says that was _exactly_ why the Council wanted to see him, he understands it now, but then he remembers: He didn’t tell Louis. Only Niall knows that the Council was asking him questions about his and Louis’ relationship. “That seems likely,” Harry says, his stomach churning with it. Gemma shoots him a curious look and he knows he’s been caught.

“You were Summoned by the Council and you didn’t tell me?”

“It didn’t seem that pressing! I mean, all they did was ask me questions.”

“About what?”

“About…” Harry stops mid-sentence, tilting his head. Whatever he was about to say has just melted from his mind.

The energy in the room has just shifted.

He turns in time to see a couple walk directly through Liam and he gets the feeling they aren’t the first to do so in the last few minutes. It’s like watching someone dump an entire pitcher of cold water on a cat. Liam stands up straight, a shudder going all the way up his spine.

The couple shiver, glancing around. “Weird bit of cold right here,” the man says. “They should get that looked at, ey?”

His wife nods and the two of them leave, going out into the rainy afternoon.  

“Liam?” Harry asks carefully, his voice quiet. “Are you all right?”

Liam looks down at himself. “Can they not…” He looks up, at all the people gathered around them nearby. He stands beside one of their tables, the family of four he was looking at. “Hey,” he says loudly. “Hey!”

“Liam, don’t—” Louis hisses, reaching for him, but his hand goes right through Liam’s elbow.

“Hey,” he shouts, waving his arms. “Hello, can any of you see me?” He tries to grab the side of their table, but his hands phase right through.

“Liam!” Harry whispers. “Stop it.”

“ _You_ stop it,” Liam snarls and Harry takes a step back, surprised. “They can’t see me. Again! Why does this keep happening? Everything was fine before.” He shakes his head, looking down at his hands. “I wish you’d never told me. I wish you’d never found out that I was dead. Everything was perfect before and now it’s ruined.”

Louis’ expression hardens. Quietly, he says, “Liam, it’s not Harry’s fault.”

“Do something,” Liam says desperately, looking at Harry. “You can fix stuff with your magic, right? You made Niall nicer during the full moon. Fix me.”

Harry flushes and Gemma steps forward, touching his arm, but he hardly feels her. “Liam, I—I don’t know if I can—I don’t really know much about ghosts—”

“Don’t pressure him, Liam!”

Liam rounds on Louis. “Oh, that’s easy for _you_ to say. You’re dead, but at least _you_ have a body. What have I got? Nothing! I’m just…” He looks down at himself again and he’s so pale, his eyes wide with horror. “I’m just nothing now.”

Something changes in his face, his expression shifting into something terrible. All at once, the lights begin flickering in the pizza parlor. Some of the people look up, annoyed, the employees confused. Then, just like with the books in his room, all of the glasses on everyone’s table float into the air. The place fills with gasps and cries as people point and stare, their mouths open as their drinks go sloshing about in mid-air.

“Liam, stop!”

If he hears Louis, he doesn’t give any indication. His eyes are a dark silver, like he’s gone blind, and his aura is vibrating with dark, black energy. Just looking at it hurts Harry’s eyes, makes him take another step back.

Tables and chairs begin shaking, their legs clattering on the floor, dishes banging against their surfaces. Across the room, a glass explodes with a popping sound. A girl screams as shards rain down on her, ice cubes pinging off the table and scattering on the floor. One by one, the glasses explode in similar fashion, until everyone is screaming and crying. People jump up from their seats as the manager comes out, calling for everyone to remain calm, but they’re too busy dodging glass to listen. They rush for the door, pushing past Harry and the others, but the door won’t open.

Louis and Harry move at the same time. Harry puts a hand on his shoulder and Louis grabs him; this time, they connect, fingers closing around Liam’s arm. Liam flinches like they hit him at the sudden solidness of their touch.

“Liam, you are not nothing,” Louis says. “You’re a ghost and you’re our friend.”

He doesn’t look at them. Slowly, the chairs float into the air next.

Harry looks at the crowd gathered at the door, trying to force it open. “Is this some kind of joke?” A man is yelling at the helpless employees, his daughter wailing in his arms. There’s a cut on her cheek where she must’ve been hit with some glass. “What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

“ _Liam_ ,” Louis says more firmly. Gemma is standing beside him, her hands over her mouth. She’s shaking.

Slowly, Liam pulls away from him. As soon as he’s out of their grasp, he’s translucent again. Not a single person in the pizza place notices the man flickering in and out of existence except the three of them. Harry’s hand is burning with cold where he touched Liam, his fingers going numb.

Harry looks at that little girl, sees the fear on her face. It’s something instinctual, his movement. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. He holds his hands up, bringing forth a well of power from deep within his core; it’s hot and shivering in his hands, like he’s cradling the sun. He expels it outward in a haze of silver glitter so fine that it’s like stardust.

Everything goes silent at once. There’s a heartbeat of pure, unbroken silence and then there is a little gasp, but Harry can’t tell who it belongs to. Maybe Gemma.

He opens his eyes.

Everyone in the pizza parlor is frozen mid-motion. Their eyes are wide, mouths open, hands outstretched for the door. The tables are held aloft still, shards of glass motionless in the air, in the spaces between every bounce along the floor. Bright baubles of soda and beer hang centimeters from the ground, ready to break and splash into droplets. Everything is calm and quiet and held in suspension by the outstretched hands in their circle.

“ _Harry_ ,” Gemma says, her voice strained and hushed. She’s looking at him like he’s someone she’s never seen before and he knows why. She didn’t know he could do this. _He_ didn’t know he could do this. He didn’t know his power was capable of it, that _any_ witch was capable of it, but here he is, holding the hands of time itself and refusing to let them tick on.

“Liam,” Louis says. “Hey, listen to me.” Finally, Liam looks at him, turning his head. His eyes are glassy and too-bright. “It’s time to stop now.”

He looks like he might dispute that for about all of three seconds—but then the fight goes out of him. His shoulders slump and he nods. That eerie silver sheen dissipates from his eyes and he flickers a couple of times. “I…I’m going to wait in the car,” he says, his voice echoing. Without waiting for Harry to release time, he moves through the wall and out into the afternoon.

“We should go, too,” Harry says, looking at Gemma. “All of this has attracted way too much attention.”

She nods, still looking pale and shaky, but she goes to the door and gently moves people out of the way. Louis helps her, silent and stunned, until they can get the door open without hurting anyone. Harry’s hands have begun to shake and his vision is starting to swim, popping with black starbursts.

He follows them out into the cold. Gemma shuts the door behind them and they hurry back to the car. As they do, Harry releases the spell and slumps against the side of the Mustang almost immediately. While Gemma does a quick spell of her own, Louis grabs his arm, wheeling him around to look at him. “Harry, are you okay?”

He nods wearily. “Peachy keen.” The exhaustion he felt that morning is nothing compared to what he’s feeling now. He’s surprised he hasn’t blown away in the wind.

“You’re bleeding.”

“What?” It’s then he feels the moistness spilling down from his nose, pooling on his upper lip. He swipes at it with two fingers and they come away scarlet. “Oh. That’s never happened before.”

Louis growls. Gently, he nudges Harry out of the way so he can open the door. He rifles through the console in the middle, returning with a package of tissues. He tears one out, wiping at Harry’s face carefully. There’s a red tinge to his eyes that has Harry grabbing his shoulder.

“Louis.”

Louis’ voice comes out rough, tightly controlled. “Don’t tell me to calm down.”

“Wasn’t going to.” Still, because he’s Harry, he casts a quick calming spell. Or tries to, anyway. Just doing so makes his head throb and he winces, eyes fluttering closed at the stabbing pain behind his eyes.

Louis’ grip on him tightens. “Don’t do that, either!” Louis looks at Gemma as she comes over to the car, looking pale. “You know how to drive a stick?” She doesn’t answer at first and he snaps his fingers at her. “Gemma. Come in.”

She jumps, looking over at him like she’s only just seeing him for the first time. “Sorry, what?”

“Can you drive this car?”

She nods, distracted. “Yeah, I—I can.”

“You okay?” Harry asks. “What’d you do?”

“Me? What about you?” She goes on without waiting for him to answer. “Modified their memories. They’re gonna think a fire happened in the kitchen and evacuate.”

“Isn’t that against the witch rules?” Louis asks.

“It’d be worse if the Council heard about this.” She looks at Harry. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to go over.”

“He’ll be fine. Here.” Louis tosses her the keys. “Liam, you move up front.”

Liam vanishes and reappears in the passenger seat without arguing. He’s barely there, wavering in and out.

Louis helps Harry into the backseat, letting him curl up with his head on Louis’ lap. “Okay, let’s go,” he says and they peal out of the parking lot a little too quickly as the rest of the customers from the pizza parlor come pouring out the front door.

Nobody talks on the way back. Louis pets Harry’s hair nervously, carding his fingers through curls like he’ll find all the answers in there, hidden away. Harry is drained; he’s never used that much magic before, never of that caliber, and it’s taken so much out of him that he drops in and out of sleep, listening to the hum of the engine and the soft singing of the radio.

Liam disappears the moment Gemma pulls up in the driveway and his light flicks on in his bedroom window. She lets out a breath, carefully releasing her white-knuckle grip from the wheel. The windows have frosty edges where Harry is sure they’re frigid to the touch, but the rest of the car feels fine.

“What the fuck was _that_ ,” Gemma whispers.

“I dunno,” Louis says quietly. “I knew he was having a hard time lately, but I didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

Harry lets his sleeves fall down over his hands, curling his fingers into the fabric. “I’ve watched a few horror movies with Zayn over the years, and this is exactly how evil spirits get made.”

“I’m talking about you, too. What was that?”

Harry shakes his head wearily. “I don’t know.”

“How did you do that?”

“I _don’t know_ , Gem.” Harry can still see that little girl crying when he closes his eyes. “It just sort of…happened.”

“Good thing, too, honestly.” Louis shakes his head. “We’ve _got_ to get him to go visit his grave. It’ll help. I’ve tried telling him that, but he just tells me he’s fine and that nothing’s wrong.” Louis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been dead for a thousand years; I _know_ it’s bothering him because that’s what it does. Being dead sinks into your bones. It makes you cold.” He tilts his head. “Until you find a witch to warm you up.”

“Hm. Maybe that’s the problem,” Gemma says. “Maybe that’s what he needs.”

“Well, I’m taken,” Harry says muzzily.

Gemma rolls her eyes, turning to face them in the backseat. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, maybe what he needs is some magic. I think all of you do, actually. This house…there’s something wrong here.” She shudders.

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t feel it, Harry? Really?” She shakes her head. “Sorry, but it’s just weird. I just watched you _stop time._ Do you know how many witches have been able to do that throughout history? I remember learning about it from Mum.” When Harry doesn’t answer, she says, “ _Four_. You are mad powerful in a way I’ve never seen before, yet you can’t feel the energies of what’s going on right in front of your eyes.”

“I’ve been busy, all right? It’s not—it’s not something _I’m_ doing.”

“Yeah, he’s been up to his eyes in…things! It’s not like he’s our keeper,” Louis says, frowning. “It can’t be on him all the time.”

“ _You_ know something’s going on, that’s why you asked me to come out!”

The words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, Harry sits up slowly. “Wait. What?”

Louis looks at him. “Harry, I—”

“You said you were just popping in for a visit!”

“Well, that wasn’t technically a lie,” Gemma says. “I am! I just didn’t say it was because Louis thinks there’s something going on in your house. And there is.”

Harry stares at Louis. He just shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not sorry for doing it. I’m sorry for not telling you, but you’ve been gone lately.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“I don’t mean _gone_ gone. I mean, you’ve been somewhere else—mentally, emotionally. Wherever it is, it’s not here.”

 _It is, though_ is what Harry wants to say. He’s been here, right beside Louis, focused on them, but he’s been so far into the future of them that Louis may as well be right. He doesn’t say anything at all on that point, instead turning to Gemma.

“I did a cleansing spell,” he says. “After Zayn. There’s nothing going on.”

She looks at them consideringly. “You have no idea, do you? What it feels like in there?”

“What do you—”

“Come on.” Gemma gets out of the car without another word, leaving them to scramble out after her.

Liam is nowhere to be found when they go inside and from the howling sounds of the upstairs loo, Niall is in the shower and singing along very loudly to what sounds like Journey. Gemma spins around in the middle of the entryway, arms spread wide. “You’re telling me you can’t feel this.”

“It feels like our house,” Harry says. His headache has returned three-fold and all he wants to do is crawl back into bed.

“Look _deeper_.”

Harry focuses his energy, taking a deep breath. He closes his eyes, but that stabbing pain hits him again, his entire face screwing up with the force of it, and he reaches out a hand instinctively. Louis is there, grabbing his wrist and supporting him.

“He can’t,” Louis says. “What he did earlier, it’s taken too much out of him.”

Harry does a quick once-over and finds his magic capabilities are at zero; he is a bright pink witchy convertible with a completely bone-dry petrol tank. He’s shocked, to be honest. He’s drawn himself low on magic before, but never empty, not like this. “Gem, he’s right. I’m empty.”

“Your magic can run out?” Louis asks, helping him to sit down.

“Just for a while. It’s not permanent.” Still, in all his years, it’s never happened to him before and he’s visibly shaken when he sits down. Today has been A Lot without him meaning for it to be. All he’d planned to do was hide out in the cellar and do his secret research, but now things are getting weird.

Which, for them, is saying something.

“All right, I’ll do it.” Gemma closes her eyes and when she opens them again, they are clouded over like Liam’s were earlier, the light hitting them with a rainbow sheen when she turns, surveying the room. “Ugh. The energy in here is _terrible_.”

She spins in a slow circle, looking up and down and all around. They watch her for a few minutes, the only sound Niall making electric-guitar noises upstairs over the water.

Gemma sighs and Harry knows she’s about to give up when she suddenly stops, turned toward the front door. “Wait…what is _that_ ,” she murmurs.

“What?” Harry asks, calling after her as she strides outside. She doesn’t answer, though she leaves the door open behind her. The rain starts coming down a little harder, pattering against the roof, as Gemma disappears from view. He doesn’t bother telling her that if it’s outside, there’s no way it could be affecting them inside. There’s no point.

Instead, Harry huffs out a breath, looking at Louis. “I can’t believe you called my _sister_.”

“After this morning? Yeah, I’m glad I did.” Louis looks at him, his expression grim. “Something’s up—something’s _been_ up for a while.”

“Well, how come you can feel it and I can’t?”

“I don’t know. And it’s not like I know what it is, I just…” Louis shakes his head. “I have this feeling. Since yesterday, which is why I phoned her.”

“A feeling?” Gemma gets feelings. Usually, they are powerful indicators of something to come, though it isn’t always clear what that might be. Harry’s starting to think Louis might be a little witchier than he’d like to think.

Louis nods. “You’ve been so wrapped up in whatever it is you’re doing in the cellar and snarking at me, I had to ask her.”

Harry doesn’t really know what to say to that and, considering his current lack of magic, thinks it’s a little unfair. Still, Louis’ right, no matter how unfair he might feel it is. He’s been gone. He’s been awful. He’s been somewhere else in time. He should tell him what’s going on.

He takes a deep breath. “Louis, I’m—”

Gemma comes stomping back inside, holding something in a mint green bubble. Her eyes have returned to their usual look, but her aura is a dark red, swimming angrily. “Here,” she says as she comes inside. “Here’s the cause of all your problems.”

Held aloft between them in her bubble is a hideous item that makes Harry physically lean back from it. It’s a bag of dark fabric, a little pouch. It’s dripping with something, dark liquid filling the inside of Gemma’s bubble, smearing along the sides. It’s tied with a strangely discolored braid of rope, knotted into a delicate bow.

“What the fuck is _that_?” Louis asks, bending to look at it.  

“A curse,” Harry says faintly. His heart is beating too loud in his ears and he can feel the anger in it just by looking at it. It’s black and ugly, almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Louis’ eyes widen as he stands up. “What?”

“What’s in it?” Harry asks Gemma.

“From what I can tell? Graveyard dust, hemlock, and morning glory vines wrapped around a rabbit’s foot.” She holds it up, making a face. “Fresh, I’m guessing, from all the blood.” She wrinkles her nose. “Fresh-ish.”

“Ugh, why do they have to be like that? That bunny didn’t do anything to them.” Harry shakes his head. “Where was it?”

“Under the stairs.”

“Foot track magic,” Harry says with a nod. “Pretty clever, I guess.” So much for something outside not influencing the inside.

Louis holds up his hands. “Okay, explain.”

“Uh, you can curse items. You shouldn’t, it’s definitely against the witch tenets, but that doesn’t stop people.” Harry points to the steady slow drip of congealing blood. “Blood magic is frowned upon, too, so this is both really bad and pretty illegal. Someone _really_ wanted to curse us. Foot track magic is when you lay something down in a place you know someone will walk over. That’s why it was under our stairs—it cursed anyone who walked over it.”

“Except me,” Gemma says. She holds up a hand, showing off the ring she’s wearing on one finger. Harry recognizes it; their grandmother gave it to her. It’s set with a chunky quartz stone. “Protection.”

Harry clenches his hands. He hasn’t been wearing his rings; he’s been busy in the cellar and he doesn’t want to mess them up. Regret is a swift-growing thing in his chest.

“Also,” Gemma says. “The rope around it. It’s woven with hair.”

“Ew,” Louis says. “Whose?”

“The energies on them are yours, Harry’s, and Niall’s.”

“But not Liam?”

Gemma shrugs. “Maybe they thought they didn’t have to worry about him.”

“Why, though?” Louis asks. He’s clutching his own forearms tightly.

“They put a spell on them, from what I can tell. Some kind of…cloaking spell, to hide the curse from your notice. And it’s got to be powerful, to be able to fool you, Harry.” She holds it up. “But, look close.”

Harry kneels on the sofa, leaning over the back to peer closely at into Gemma’s bubble. Of the three colors of hair woven into the rope, just one of them is broken in places.

“That’s yours,” Gemma tells Louis. “That’s why you can feel it. Why you knew something was wrong.”

“My hair dies faster,” Louis says with a quick grin. “Gets really brittle when strands fall. Harry’s blood is the only thing that really keeps me as fresh and dewy as I am these days.”

“Gross,” Gemma says.

“Well, can’t let myself go just because I’m dead. Gotta keep that girlish figure, you know how it is.”

“I really don’t _want_ to know.” She sighs. “Anyway, all magic has a flaw. You know that, Harry. There’s always something imperfect in spells, right? So I’m guessing that their flaw is in the cloaking spell. None of you were supposed to find it, true, but if someone _else_ found it—in this case, me—and brought it to your attention, the spell would break. Magic is wily like that. Has all sorts of rules.”

“Then why do I still feel…” Harry makes a complicated waving motion with his hands.

“Because you’re still cursed. That’s definitely still a thing. Let me guess: Wonky magic, mood swings?”

Harry nods. “And nightmares.”

“Exactly. It’s why you can’t feel the energy in here; your magic has been messed with. But now you at least know you’ve been cursed and why you couldn’t see it before.” She sighs. “So here’s your problem. Explains a lot, actually. Now, the question is—”

The door to the loo upstairs opens, steam and the scent of some kind of Grotesque Men’s Body Wash pouring out. Gemma vanishes the curse from sight, holding her hands behind her back.

Niall appears on the second floor landing, hair on end, as he holds a towel around his waist. “Oi,” he says, looking around with confusion, “where’s the pizza?”

Right. Lunch. “Uh.” Harry exchanges a look with Gemma and Louis. “Erm. Should we—”

“We’ll explain later,” Louis says. “Long story short: for now, no pizza.” 

Niall groans, slumping back against the wall. “So now what?”

“Now…we’re making lunch?” Harry squeaks out, looking at Gemma and Louis hopefully. Gemma shrugs and Louis nods. “Yeah, I guess we’re making lunch.”

“We’ll think of something,” Gemma says.

“Not pizza, though,” Niall replies sadly.

“Not everything can be pizza and rainbows,” Louis says. He’s frowning a little, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Harry touches his shoulder.

“Oh, by the way, Gemma,” Niall says, looking at her. “Louis’ a terrible cook, so don’t let him in the kitchen.” When Louis glares at him, he says, “I have an incredible sense of smell. I know what sort of hideous things you’ve been making in my kitchen.”

Louis says something that Harry has to assume is rude in French and Niall responds with a middle finger. Louis rolls his eyes.

Once Niall disappears into his room to put some clothes on, the three of them immediately return to their secret meeting. “So the question remains, why would someone want to curse you?” Gemma asks, her voice low. “Do you have any enemies?”

Louis just laughs, the sound hollow. “Dead,” he asks dryly, “or alive?”

“Yeah, no offense, but I have to assume this is about you,” Harry says. “You’ve been alive a lot longer than I have, done some…things.” 

Gemma raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t ask.

“True, I have a novel-length list of enemies and people from all throughout history who might want my head on a stick. But…Harry, you and Gemma, your family, you’re the only witches I know right now. And who else could do that kind of magic?” He touches the edge of Gemma’s bubble and it flares brighter for just a moment. “It feels a little personal.”

Gemma nods. “He’s got a point, H. This is some very angry, very powerful witch shit.”

“But I’m…just Harry.”

“You just _froze time_. You’re not just Harry,” Gemma says with a small smile. “You’ve never been just Harry.”

“Gotta agree with her there, darling. You’ve never really been able to see it, but you’re proper powerful. We weren’t kidding when we said it during our little…monster-vention a few months ago.”

When Gemma flashes Harry a questioning look, he says, “The day we all came clean with each other. I did one of my galaxies.”

She nods. “Right. So, does that sound like anyone you know?”

“Someone powerful enough to keep something magical from Harry, who is tops, and someone so pissed at him that they would stoop to this?” Louis holds up his hands, like he’s weighing the options. “Feels like a ‘never the twain shall meet’ type thing. Who do you know who’s both?”

Harry shrugs. “I can’t think of anyone. I haven’t done anything!”

Louis takes Harry’s hand. “We know that. But for some reason, someone’s targeting us.”

Gemma sighs. “Well, this is not what I thought was going to happen when I finally came to visit.”

“Should we tell the others about it?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Niall was targeted too, and the last thing Liam needs after that whole mess is something to mess him up even more. Maybe that’s why he _was_ messed up in the first place. I mean, the hair thing—that was just so he wasn’t aware of it, right? It could still have affected him.”

Gemma nods. “It could have. It could explain the pizza parlor. And I agree. We should tell them and destroy it. Doing that will let the person know we’re on to them—they’ll be able to feel it being destroyed—but we don’t really have any other choice.”

She vanishes the curse again, sending it up to her room. “We’ll do it after lunch, though, yeah? Best to break the news on a full stomach. Wouldn’t want your flatmate going all ‘Hungry Like the Werewolf’ on us.”

“You’re right,” Louis says. “The last thing we need in this house is Duran Duran.”

“Oi,” Harry says, frowning. “Watch your mouth, Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis grins. “I’d much rather watch yours.”

Gemma looks at them, wrinkling her nose even as she smiles a little. “Gross.”

* * *

 They manage to parse together a lunch of cheese toasties that Niall deems passable, so it’s a win for everyone involved, even though Harry burned two of his fingers and Gemma picked up a loaf of bread from the wrong end and dumped it all out onto the floor. Harry’s starting to think the curse is not so much against their energy and their house, but their luck—and she’s affected by it too, whether she thinks so or not.

After everyone has eaten, save for the lingering undead, they gather in the sitting room. Harry feels like a concerned parent who found weed in his kid’s room or something, which isn’t far off from the truth – he’s pretty sure everyone present has weed in their rooms. He’s pretty sure Gemma has some in her bag, even. The point is, he feels like he’s about to start an intervention. He looks at Louis, who gives him a little prompting motion, which does absolutely nothing to lessen the feeling of being parents over a moody teen werewolf.

“So, erm, Niall,” Harry begins. “How’s it going?”

Louis makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and Niall looks at him strangely. “Uh. Okay?”

“How was work?”

“Oh my god,” Louis mutters. “Don’t answer that, Niall. Have you felt…odd lately?”

“You mean, _besides_ right now?” He shrugs. “Dunno. Define ‘odd’.”

“Oh, you know…” Louis waves an airy hand. “General feelings of despair, hopelessness, like you just can’t be arsed.”

Niall frowns. “I guess you could say that. Some nightmares, too. Weird shit.”

“Sort of like it’s that time of the month?”

“I guess. But the full moon isn’t it until the end of October. I’m fine.”

“Hm.”

“Why? What’re you on about?”

“Well, we sort have some weird, bad news that explains all of that.”

“Oh, no. What is it this time?” Niall looks at Harry. “Did you do some weird magic?”

“What? Why am I the first person you look at?”

“Because you do weird magic!”

Harry opens his mouth, scowling, but Gemma summons the curse back to her waiting hands before he can bite back, keeping it within the bubble. “Harry didn’t do anything,” she says. “But it is magic-related, yeah. We found this under the front stairs of the house today.”

Niall’s eyes widen as he leans forward. “What the fuck is that,” he asks, wrinkling his nose. “Smells like rabbit. Off rabbit too, like it’s been down there a while.”

“A curse. Someone placed it under your stairs where walking over it would trigger it. From what I can tell, it was designed to trip up your energies. It’s sort of like an infection of the spirit. It was also designed to make sure none of you could detect its presence.”

“There’s strands of our hair tied around it,” Louis says, pointing them out. “But mine broke, and I could tell something was going on with us, even if I still don’t really know the full extent of it.”

“Ugh,” Niall says, “that’s dead weird. Why would somebody do that? Like, who was the target?”

“We don’t know. Could be all of us.”

“But _why_? What have we done?”

“No clue.” Louis exchanges a look with Harry and Gemma. “Also, it might have something to do with Liam.”

“What do you mean?”

They fill him in on what happened at the pizza parlor, and the way Liam’s been so off-kilter lately. Harry squirms uncomfortably when Louis talks about it; Niall isn’t the only one who hasn’t noticed much going on. “His hair’s not in it, so they weren’t worried about him noticing it, but I’m not sure he could feel it anyway, if this curse is what’s making him all—” Louis pauses, searching for a word.

“Mental,” Niall offers.

“Basically.”

“I don’t really…feel any different, though. Does that make sense?”

Gemma nods. “You’ve been bewitched to feel that way. Once we destroy it, the spell should break and you’ll be fully aware.”

Niall leans back against the sofa, drawing one knee up to his chest. “I’m just…I don’t get it. This doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at me, not really. It feels like it’s…”

“Us,” Harry says. “Yeah. But we don’t know which one of us. We can’t think of anything we’ve done lately to make people mad.” Niall looks at him, eyebrows raised somewhat in a significant look, and Harry averts his eyes.

“‘Lately’ being the key word here,” Louis says. “There’s loads of people I’ve pissed off throughout the years.”

“Trust me, I remember. Also, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was someone you’d pissed off during _this_ century, you’re just so good at it.”

Louis flips his middle finger up at him and Niall blows him a kiss.

“So what do we do?” Niall looks at Harry and Gemma. “You mentioned destroying it. You two know what you’re doing, right?”

“For the most part,” Harry says with a small smile.

“How do we do that?”

“Have you ever seen that show Supernatural?”

“Once or twice.” Niall rolls his eyes. “What they don’t know about anything, ever, would take Louis’ entire lifetime to talk about.”

“Well, for all its nonsense, they are right about one thing: Of almost everything in the world, the two most guaranteed ways to break curses? Salt and fire.”

Gemma nods. “There’s nothing more cleansing. Saltwater would be even better, but then it’d be harder to burn, so we have to make do. You’re the master of the kitchen, right? Have you got salt?”

“Loads of it. ’S up in the cupboard.”

“And she’s got fire,” Harry says, pointing to Gemma. 

“Cool,” Niall says, grinning. “I guess we’re having a bonfire.”

“Should we invite Liam?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’d have better luck bringing a Ouija board.”

“Not a bad idea,” Niall says thoughtfully, but Harry and Gemma both veto that all at once before either one of them can pursue it.

“Right, because what we need is _more_ unhappy spirits in this house,” Harry says, shaking his head. “No way.”

“Just a joke, Curly.” Louis walks to the window, pulling aside one of the long curtains to peer outside. “Only, the rain might have something to say about it.”  

He’s not wrong. It’s the worst time of the year, in the worst place, to want to burn something outside. Normally, Harry would just magic the rain away, but he can’t and weather has never been Gemma’s strong suit, something he loves reminding her every chance he gets.

They wait until the rain stops, which takes until around sunset, Harry napping in the meantime. Thankfully, there are no nightmares this time, though his head still feels stuffed with wool when Louis gently shakes him awake. They make Niall carry the salt, since he’s been in the worst mood lately. The four of them troop out into the woods, glowing balls of light floating around their heads and feet courtesy of the eldest witch in their wake. It’s muddy, damp, and cold; Harry can just feel his curls springing out of control with the moisture in the air.

Ahead of him, Louis and Gemma are chatting about her uni classes, leaving Harry to watch the two of them. His body _wants_ to feel content about the two of them getting to know each other and excitement about the possibilities, but all he feels is anxious. His head hasn’t stopped aching all day.

Suddenly, Niall grabs his elbow and pulls him back a little so that the two of them fall in step. “Question.”

“Shoot.”

“You still haven’t told,” he gestures at Louis, raising his eyebrows, “about the Council, have you? The real reason they wanted to talk to you.”

Harry shakes his head. “Time’s not right.”

“Says who?”

“Says me, Ni. I don’t want to mess with him right now. Not in the middle of all this.”

“Okay, but that’s where I’m going with this. Just hear me out for a second. Your witch Council wouldn’t happen to be angry at you for _that_ particular reason, would they?”

“I dunno. They might be.” He hadn’t really considered that before, but then again, he hadn’t known about the tension between witches and vampires before today. “Why?”

Niall lets go of his arm abruptly, looking away—and Harry gets it.

“You think _they_ put the curse under the stairs? Niall.” Harry laughs. “You have officially lost the plot.”

“Who else is more powerful than you? Who else is annoyed?”

“Being _annoyed_ is one thing,” Harry says, keeping his voice down and flicking a look at the two ahead of them. “This is a really powerful, detrimental curse. It’s not something you do when you’re _annoyed_. The amount of work it would take, the toll it would have on you—” Harry shakes his head. “This is from someone furious.”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe they could be that angry? I mean, you stopped time today. Just because I didn’t see it doesn’t mean I don’t know it happened. I mean, look at you. You can’t even use your magic to open doors right now. It took a lot out of you but you _did_ it.” Niall shakes his head. “Do you even realize how much of a threat you are to them?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Harry. Lou and I have been alive a long time. We’ve seen a lot of things throughout the years, and one thing you can always count on, no matter what: People want power. It doesn’t matter if they’re human or not. They want to obtain it and they want to keep it. And when someone threatens that position…they eliminate the threat.”

“I keep telling you guys, I’m _not_ that powerful. I just…I don’t know. Today was a fluke.”

“You’ve never been able to do that before?” Harry shakes his head. “You never even tried?”

That time, he nods. “When I was a kid, sure. Everybody tries it.” He’d been sat in the naughty corner for putting slugs he found in the garden on Gemma’s pillow. His mum had taken away his magic privileges for the next week, and so naturally the first thing he’d tried to do was reverse time. All that had achieved was a headache and his mum extending the punishment to two weeks.

“What if it’s something new? Like your powers have grown as you’ve gotten older.”

Harry shakes his head again. “Your powers mature by the time you’re twenty. I’m done.”

“What if it’s something else, then? What’s happened to you recently that would change things for you?”

Harry bites his lip and when he looks at Niall, he knows they’re both thinking the same thing. Slowly, Harry turns, looking to where Louis is walking ahead of him, laughing at something Gemma’s said. He’s never read anything that suggests witches’ power grows when they fall in love, but then, he and Louis don’t exactly have the most conventional relationship. It reminds him a bit of his current research, actually. Power transference.

“How would they even know about it?” Harry asks. “It only just happened today. That curse has been there for a while.”

“So? You said yourself they might be watching you. And maybe they’ve always known how powerful you are. Maybe it’s only just now becoming apparent to _you_.”

“So your grand theory,” Harry whispers, “is that the Council was mad me and you-know-who are together because I’ve refused to give him—and the power he apparently gives me—up. So me and my family are threats that need to be dealt with?” Harry shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Ni, but that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re—they’re _good._ They’re the witch government!”

“You’re right,” Niall drawls, rolling his eyes, “when have governments ever done shady shit and betrayed their own people? And that woman, that main one, she seemed like a proper Maggie Thatcher if there ever was one.”

“You met her for like, a minute. I’ve known her my whole life.”

“Known of her, or _known_ her?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, actually.” When Harry continues to huff, Niall says, “Look, it’s just a theory, but I don’t think we should count anybody out right now. Look at darling dearest, for example, and the events regarding his unfortunate demise.” He nods at Louis.

“What about it?”

“Sometimes it’s the people closest to you who turn on you, like with his parents. That’s why you never see it coming—and why it’s _such_ a betrayal.”

Harry doesn’t say anything to that, too busy biting his lip and thinking. There’s no way Niall is right. It’s just too far-fetched to even imagine. The Council are there to _protect_ people; until their most recent talk, he’s had nothing but good experiences with them. They’ve taught him a lot throughout the years indirectly. They’re chosen specifically for being wise leaders in their communities and not to be a prick, but what does Niall know about witches and their lives anyway? Nothing. So excuse Harry for not jumping up and down and believing him immediately.

“Anyway,” Niall sighs. He points to Louis. “I’ve got some questions for him, too.”

“You’re not going to—”

“Say anything? Nah. As much as I _really_ hate keeping secrets between the two of you. I think you _should_ tell him, because chances are, he’ll find out anyway. But it’s really none of my business. And who knows? Could be like you said.” Niall shrugs. “Maybe the time’s not right.”

Harry watches as he jogs a little ahead to catch up with Louis and Gemma, slinging an arm around Louis’ shoulder. He excuses them with a jaunty laugh and Gemma slows to fall in beside Harry. The tides of their relationships shift, reaching out and pulling back in, the four of them orbiting back and forth around one another.

“Harry,” she says suddenly, “you wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Harry laughs nervously. “No. You’re my sister.”

“See, that’s what I told myself. But right now, in this moment…”

“What? What’s up?” Tonight, it seems, is a night for questions.

“I just want to know,” she says jovially, “what in the _fuck_ is going on around here.”

* * *

 “What do you want?” Louis asks Niall, the second they’re out of earshot.

“A guy can’t just stroll along with his mate?”

“I can _smell_ the questions in your blood and I just heard you talking to Harry.” When Niall tenses, Louis rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t _listening,_ I just heard your voices. So out with it. Gemma was telling me how she got past this level on Candy Crush and I’ve been stuck for ages.”

“I was thinking. About this curse business.”

Louis shoves his arm off. “Oh, here we go.”

“I just had a thought—”

“Now _that_ worries me.”

“Ha-ha. Was thinking about that whole thing in London.” He sends a significant look in Louis’ direction. “You remember?”

“Niall, we’ve had a lot of _things_ in London. You’re going to have to be much more specific if you want anything out of me.” Who knew a heart could beat this hard, could feel this nervous? Louis decides he doesn’t like it much anymore, all its wild fluttering about. He was better off without it up to all that unsupervised junk.

Niall makes a _tch_ noise. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Your spectacular resignation from the—”

Louis clamps a hand over Niall’s mouth, looking back over his shoulder. He catches a snippet of their conversation; can’t help it, with ears like his.

“ _…why in the name of all that’s magic would you want to do_ that…” Gemma is saying, frowning, and he blocks it out, turning away quickly.

“What’re you getting at?” he asks, voice low, removing his hand.

“Enemies. Someone from our past who might have hired a witch to do this. You know who I’m thinking of.”

“Yeah, I know.” Louis rubs a hand over his neck. Niall just watches him do it, the silence settling over both of them. He frowns.

“Okay,” Niall says slowly, “uh, this is the part where you tell me that’s _impossible_ because he has no idea where we are or if we’re even still alive and we’re safe because we staked his arse anyway.”

“Staking doesn’t kill.”

“Amazing, how I’m feeling _so not comforted_ by that.” He grabs Louis’ arm. “He doesn’t know where we are, right? I mean, I thought we were clear of him. It’s been over a century.”

Yeah, it’s been over a century. And yeah, for a while, he _didn’t_ know where they were. _But somehow he found us,_ Louis thinks. It could have been any number of moments. It could have been that trip to London, it could have been the magic blood in his veins practically broadcasting his location to the supernatural world. It could have been anything. But now the crows are there and Louis knows they’re not alone.

His silence makes Niall groan quietly. “Are you _serious_ —how?”

“I don’t know. But I got an invitation to the Samhain Ball in the post, of all fucking things.”

“That smarmy bastard.”

“Yeah. I tore it up.”

“You didn’t answer?”

“Are you joking? _No._ ”

“That’s bound to piss him off. Did you see anyone?”

Louis shakes his head. “But it wasn’t _sent_ through the post, had no markings. Someone hand-delivered it to the box.”

“Oh my fucking god. He knows where we _live_?” Niall shakes his head. “When was this?”

“A couple of weeks ago.”

Niall’s eyes nearly fall out of his head. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“I _tried_ to bring it up with you, but you blew me off. Too busy whining about your workload. Why do you think I’ve been shut in like a nutter?”

“Oh, I’m _sorry_ ,” Niall hisses, voice hardly above a whisper. “Sorry I got inconveniently cursed and couldn’t be arsed to listen to your shit. You still should have told me.”

“You’re not the one who burned his house down, Niall. It’s really more my problem than yours.”

“Bullshit. I was there. You think he’ll forget that?” When Louis doesn’t answer, again, he rolls his eyes. “Wonderful. This is exactly what we need right now.”

“So? You think he did it?”

“Is he capable? Sure. But I mean…how much does he know? About us, here?”

“Well, he knows where we live. So who knows how long he’s known where we are? Who knows how long he’s been watching us?” That reminds Louis. “Did you _see_ the paper this morning? Someone was killed in the village. Their body was found almost completely drained dry of blood. I think they’re hanging around. Waiting.” Even now, Louis thinks he hears a wing flap somewhere in the dark trees around them and he flinches.

“Ugh. Creepy. And horrible. This is exactly like how it was then.” Niall snaps his fingers. “Another thing: if it is him, what witch is on his payroll to cook up something like that?”

“No idea. I’d be happy to ask him for you.”

Niall gapes. “You’re not thinkin’ of _going_ to the ball?”

“No, I was thinking more along the lines of when he comes to kill us after murdering his way through Gloomingshire.”

“Oh, well. That’s a relief.” Niall lets out a breath, shifting the canisters of salt in his arms. “This is…not great.”

“Thanks, I had actually figured that out for myself.”

“Did you tell Harry?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nobody but you. I just…I know it’s dumb, okay? I know it’s a threat to all of us and he and Liam deserve to know. But if I can handle this without him knowing—”

“You don’t want him to know.”

“Of _course_ I don’t want him to know. This is the one slice of my life I _never_ want him to know about because I—it was awful, all right? You remember. I want to protect him from it, I _have_ to. Everything else falls to the wayside, Ni.”

“Yeah? And what if I don’t believe you?”

Louis slashes a glance at him. “What?”

“I do believe you, about protecting him. But I don’t think that’s why you don’t want him to know. I think you’re afraid he’ll judge you.” Niall looks at him and it’s too shrewd; Louis wants to punch him, turn his face away, anything to get that look off him. “This is the last thing, isn’t it? The last bit he doesn’t know. And then he’ll know everything there is to know about you and it’s the worst part of the story. The Red Wedding of your life.”

Louis scoffs. “You haven’t even read those books, you fake bitch.”

“I’ve read the wiki. Don’t change the subject.”

“So what?”

“You _really_ think he’s gonna go through all of this with you, just to run away now?”

“He can’t understand what we were like, then.”

“He already knows plenty about what you’ve done, stuff that should’ve made him run screaming at the beginning.” Niall laughs, shaking his head. “You’re an idiot, Tommo.”

“Fuck you.”

“He made the sun shine for you. He’s given you his _blood_. Where I come from, that means something.”

“I know. It’s how we swear our oaths, you know that. Me and you, we’ve always done it that way. Makes it—”

“Unbreakable,” Niall says. “Yeah. Sacred. Which is why you’re an idiot.”

“Hey, Niall? See above.”

“I get it. You don’t want to talk about this anymore. But you know he’s going to find out, right? At some point, something’s going to happen and either he’ll find out or you’ll have to tell him. And it should be sooner rather than later.”

“Thanks, Mum.”

“It all comes out in the wash, Lou.” Niall shakes his head. “You two are ridiculous. If only you knew.”

“Whatever. There’s another reason I didn’t tell you and it’s because I knew you’d be annoying about it. But yeah, congrats, we have a suspect.”

“One that we can’t tell them about.”

“Yeah.”

“Lovely. This is exactly everything I wanted to deal with when I got home from work today.” Niall sighs. “Thanks for telling me, at least. I won’t say anything.” He huffs. “I’ve gotten used to being the secret-keeper of this household.”

Louis frowns at that but doesn’t ask; he has far too much on his mind to deal with whatever petty grievances Niall has managed to come up with now. He’s not used to feeling this helpless and he hates it. Being a vampire, helplessness doesn’t come with the territory often. With the exception of the sun being an interference, there’s not much you can’t do. But the last time he felt this helpless, there was a literal hole in his heart. The last time he felt this helpless, he was watching fire do what it does best, smoke blotting out the stars in a dark, dark night.

He doesn’t want to feel that way again.

“What are you thinking?” Niall asks.

 _I’m thinking I might have to actually kill the bastard this time around._ He swallows that down, makes it small with his hands in his mind, filing it—and the fear—away into a neat little box with a lock. “I’m thinking you’re a fake bitch,” Louis says with a grin, nudging him with his elbow. “I mean, really? The Red Wedding? Everyone knows the worst part is when Jon dies in _A Dance With Dragons_.”

Niall nearly drops his salt, squirming away from Louis. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“What? Didn’t you know?”

“Fucking spoilers!”

Louis cackles and, if there is the sound of crows cawing in the distance underneath it, he can at least pretend not to hear. It’s what he’s best at.

* * *

 Gemma blinks. “You’re doing _what_ now?”

“Looking into whether or not vampire blood has any helpful qualities.” Harry winces, even as he says, “For reasons. Science reasons.” When Gemma just stares at him with an unrelenting gleam in her eye, he sighs. “Well, I may or may not be curious about the specific effects on…witches.”

“Specifically, on you.”

“Yes.”

“Why in the name of all that’s magic would you want to do that?”

“Because.”

“Harry.”

Harry flaps his hands exasperatedly. “I want to know about the power transference, okay? He gets things from me. He can go out in sunlight for a little while, he can see auras. He can see himself in mirrors now!”

“And…what, you’re thinking you’ll get his strength or his senses or his healing?”

Harry shrugs. “Well, sure—” He actually wasn’t thinking about those things at all but yeah, okay.

“Or is his _immortality_ more your style?”

Harry might as well be the ghost of the household, because Gemma has always been able to see right through him. He can’t help but wince again at her tone of voice. “That _could_ have something to do with it,” he says, examining his fingernails, as if they’re anything short of perfect right now with his favorite gold glitter polish on.

Gemma groans quietly. “Harry, that is a _terrible_ idea.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“No, trust me, I do.”

“Where do I even start?”

“The beginning.”

“All right, well. I mean, for starters, it’s illegal.”

Harry holds up a finger. “Which I only learned today. And there’s no actual tenet against it, because then they’d have to admit to vampires being real.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the Council will take that into consideration. You’re not even supposed to know about this sort of thing. None of us are. You and Louis meeting, it was kind of—”

“A fluke.” Funny how Harry’s already that once today, about his power. He can’t help but think about what Niall said, about Louis strengthening his magic. It bears looking into. “But you can’t tell me that no vampires and witches have met nowadays. That’s absurd.”

“We’re dying breeds, Harry. And even if we do meet, we’re not supposed to know about it and we’re certainly not supposed to live together. It’s just…it doesn’t work. We’ve proved it in the past. Regular people always find out, there’s always chaos, and it’s just better for the world and everyone involved if we stay away from each other.”

“Then why didn’t they Summon me years ago? Why didn’t they come to me when I met Zayn? Why haven’t they asked me about Niall? Why is it _just_ vampires and witches?”

She narrows her eyes at him. “You mean…they _did_ Summon you about Louis? This time?”

“Of course they did. They were asking me all sorts of vile, invasive questions about the _nature_ of our _relationship_.”

“So you answer that by locking yourself in your workshop and doing _more_ research on the things they don’t want you to know about? Do you know how insane that is?”

“Yes!” Harry takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I know how important secrets are, okay? I’m a _gay witch_. I know how important it is that people don’t know about us. But you know what else? I’m _tired_ of the secrets. I’m tired of the way we let them rule us. I trust the Council and I know they have our best interests at heart, but I want…” He stops, hands clenching on empty air.

“What? What do you want?”

 _To be free._ Harry swallows hard, looking away. He loves his sister more than a lot of things in life, but he’s not going to tell her that, right now, when they’re walking toward a clearing in the forest to burn a curse. Those are the kinds of thoughts that shouldn’t be said out loud under such circumstances, even if they are out under the open sky, beneath the fading remnants of the rain and the watchful stars. They’re too holy, too much.

Harry shakes his head. “Look, it doesn’t matter, okay? I just want to know whether or not there’s anything there for me to look into. But everywhere I turn, it’s another door shut in my face.”

“I hate to be that person, H, but I don’t think you’ll find anything. Maybe those doors being shut in your face are a sign. Maybe you aren’t meant to know.”

“I refuse to believe that.”

“Okay, so what happens if you find something? What happens if you actually convince Louis to do this with you? I mean, what if—”

“What if I turn into a vampire?”

“Then you’ll definitely lose your magic and I love you, but you’re not drinking _my_ blood to simulate its effects.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you!”

“I know. And I want to. Hence why we’re here, having this conversation.”

“Okay, but why? Why is it so important to you?”

 _Because of what happened in London. Because I don’t want to let this go. Because I don’t want to die before Louis, without him._ Harry just bites his lip. “It just is, okay? And I don’t think it’ll make me lose my magic.” He says it as surely as he can, but there’s a whisper of doubt nagging at him. He doesn’t know what will happen, because he can’t seem to find any information on it. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t there, waiting to be discovered.

Gemma takes a deep, patient breath. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Noted.”

“Can you promise me one thing, at least?”

“What?”

“ _Be careful_.”

When Harry looks at her, he can see it written across her skin, like a language only they know. “You’ve had one of your feelings, haven’t you?”

She nods. “Something’s coming. I don’t know what it is, just got a glimpse of a lot of shadows.”

Harry thinks of his nightmare, of Louis’ voice in the darkness of their room.

“But I feel…scared whenever I think about it, so whatever it is, I know it’s not good. So you’ve _got_ to look after yourself.” She nods at Louis and Niall ahead of them. “Them, too. I know how important they are to you. That’s why we need to get rid of this—” she holds up the curse, “—and do some deep cleansing around here. All the energy is so off. It’s time to batten down the hatches.”

Harry glances at Louis and Niall. Their heads are bent together and Louis is gesturing vaguely. Niall’s shoulders are hunched as he adjusts the salt in his arms, and if Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say something was wrong.

“What about them?” he asks. “Should we say something?”

Gemma shrugs. “They already know something’s wrong.” She nods to the curse. “Otherwise, why would this be here?”

Finally, they reach the clearing and Gemma’s balls of light spread themselves out at equal intervals to light their way, bobbing up and down in the breeze. Harry wants to help them move some of the leaves and branches that have fallen, but Louis steers him to a log and has him sit instead while they do the work. To his surprise, Louis plops down beside him.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Not as bad. Still tired. A little achey.” He watches Gemma use her magic to clear their meadow and pull some of the moisture out of it after the rain. “I don’t know what happened earlier.”

“That’s okay. We’re all in the same boat with you, just as lost at sea.” Louis laughs quietly, folding his arms over his chest. “So. We’re cursed. Wild, innit?”

“Right? A year ago, if somebody told me I was going to be nature-married to a vampire with a ghost and werewolf for flatmates and all of us were _cursed_ , I would’ve died laughing.” Harry looks at Louis. “You sure you’re still in this?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “And why not? This is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Really?”

“Well, not fun, necessarily. But it’s certainly interesting.” He nudges Harry gently. “What about you? Second thoughts?”

Even with his magic at zero, Harry can still detect a hint of apprehension in Louis, spreading out from his skin. “Of course not,” he says firmly. “Teamwork makes the dream work.”

Louis laughs so hard he starts coughing and Gemma flashes them a strange look. It feels good, making Louis laugh—and Harry is sure having this stupid curse off of them will feel even better.

They watch as Niall digs a firepit, doing this creepy little thing where he sort-of shifts, his nails growing just long enough for him to tear up the earth. Gemma finishes up by levitating the branches they collected, letting them hover over the pit.

“Okay, Niall. What you’re going to do is draw a circle around the hole with salt. Try to make it neat, okay? And make sure the circle is _closed._ We can’t have any openings.”

“What happens if we have openings?” he asks.

“Then the curse will get out and probably manifest in a demon or something.”

Niall stares. “Is that—are you serious?”

“Yes. Where do you think horror movies get their ideas from? As a werewolf, you’d think this stuff would be old hat to you by now.”

“Not _curses_. That’s witch stuff!”

“How are werewolves made, then?”

“It’s a _disease_ ,” Niall says, like it’s obvious. “Lycanthropy.”

“But I bet they didn’t consider it a disease way back when. It was a curse, right?” She looks at Louis.

He smirks, raising his eyebrows. “She’s got you there, mate. The times I’m from, that happened to you because of some sin you’d committed. You were cursed with the blood of a beast, to appease the gods or because you were a criminal or something.”

“Whatever. The point is, I didn’t sign up for _demons_.”

“Well, do the salt like I told you, and you won’t have to worry!”

Niall mutters something about bossy witches and one of the salt canisters in his arms tips over and falls, spilling all over the ground, though Harry was sure it was closed and sealed a minute ago. Niall mumbles some uncomplimentary sentiments and Louis smiles at Gemma, his chin resting in his hands. “You know,” he says, “I’m really glad I know you.”

“Thanks. Now how about you be glad to help?”

Harry raises a hand from his time-out place. “I can scatter salt. Requires no magic.”

Gemma frowns. “I really think you should stay sitting. Wouldn’t want you getting overtired.”

That’s such a mum thing to say that he is contractually obligated by the rules of siblinghood to roll his eyes. “I’m _fine_ , Gem. Promise!”

“He says he’s fine,” Louis says, holding a hand out. “And I’ll keep an eye on him. Scout’s honor.”

Harry narrows his eyes. “You were never a Boy Scout.”

“You don’t know that.”

Harry opens his mouth to refute that, but then he stops, frowning. Louis is right; he actually _doesn’t_ know that. “Well. Were you?”

“Nah. I wasn’t straight enough.”

Gemma snorts, rolling her eyes, while Harry grins. “That’ll get you every time.”

“Their loss, honestly. I make a _mean_ firewood-carrier.”

“So I’ve seen. But let’s see about you getting that long-awaited badge in curse-breaking.”

“Finally. It’s the only one I’m missing!” Louis counts off on his fingers. “I’ve got all the others needed to be a proper Monster Scout. Leatherworking, survival, blood-drinking, aura vision, rimming—”

Harry remembers their morning and he flushes. Gemma makes a choked noise behind them, dropping her phone, and Louis flashes her a devious look over his shoulder. “All right there, Gemma?” He taps his chin. “Now, what’s that expression? Erm…oh, right! Frog in the throat?”

“Something like that,” she says, her eyes watering. “How about you give Niall a hand? I mean, help. Some help.”

“Don’t need to ask us twice. C’mon, love.” Louis takes Harry’s hand and they join Niall at the firepit, where he’s struggling to get one of the salt canisters open.

“You’re an absolute terror,” Harry says. “That’s why the Boy Scouts wouldn’t take you.” Though he still feels like somebody used his head as a football, he feels better there, under the night sky, among the trees. He feels less strain on his throat, less of a weight on his chest, like he can breathe there.

“Sure, among other things.” He lets go of Harry’s hand, but not before pressing the pads of his fingers into the spaces between Harry’s delicate bones, not before swiping his thumb across the line of Harry’s fingers like he sometimes does with the piano in the sitting room. It steadies Harry for the time being and he takes a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand.

Together, the three of them do as Gemma says, drawing a mostly neat circle with salt around the firepit. Harry goes over it again just to make sure it’s closed at every possible curve. When they’re finished, Gemma directs them to draw a star inside of it, with the firewood in the center. Harry has more experience with it than them so he does the honors, focusing his energy on the salt, imagining a safe pink barrier, a bubble to keep that hideous thing contained. He couldn’t have cast a spell at that moment even if he wanted to, but he always has plenty of energy and good vibes to spread around. Usually, anyway.

“Okay,” Gemma says when they’re done. “One of you hang onto the salt, we’ll need it.”

Niall takes the salt from Harry, saluting Gemma.

“Now, I’ll start the fire.” With the curse floating in the air beside her, she makes a complicated whirling motion with her hands and a ball of flickering flames appears within, held in the confines of her fingers. She shoots it forward, hands splayed out, and it lights the wood in the pit with a _whoosh_ , a rush of sparks flitting up into the night air.

“You two are like superheroes,” Niall says, his eyes reflecting the fire.

Gemma smiles. “A bit.”

“I’m not good at that, though,” Harry says, pointing. “I mean, I can light candles and things, but what she just did? No way.”

“He’s more air,” Gemma says, blowing smoke off her fingernails. “I’m fire. It’s why we work so well together.” She tilts her head. “And why he’s so drawn to you three.”

“What do you mean?” Louis asks.

“You’re all earth. Liam, too. All focus and grounding. Growth. It’s a good thing,” she says, when Louis and Niall exchange a look, eyebrows raised. “Witches are meant to be with the earth.”

Niall beams at that, holding onto the salt a little tighter. Louis stares into the fire, a thoughtful look on his face, and Harry wonders what he’s thinking. He wonders if it’s along the same lines as what _he’s_ thinking: That they are, and always will be, meant for each other. There’s a kind of comfort in knowing that, even if it’s small. Like a ladybug balanced on the head of a pin. Small, wavering, but still there all the same.

“Right,” Gemma says, “Anyway. Ready?”

Harry and Louis nod, but Niall raises his hand. “Erm, real quick,” he says. “You have done this before, right?”

Gemma frowns. “Well. Not me personally, no. But our mum has.”

“And we’ve read lots about it,” Harry pipes up. “So we know how it goes in theory.”

“In theory,” Niall repeats. “Right. So you’re saying _in theory_ you have some idea of how this is going to go, but you’re not totally sure because you’ve never actually done it before?”

“Yes.”

“So the demons are like a real possibility here. Like what percentage would you say—”

“Niall,” Louis says firmly, “stop harping about the demons. What’s worse: demons, or continuing to live while _cursed_?”

Niall stares at him for a good few seconds. “Wait, was that a real question, or…”

“Shut up, Ni. It’s going to be fine. You just said it yourself, these two are practically superheroes. If there are demons, we’ll protect you.”

“Harry’s magic is on empty!”

Louis holds up a hand like a mother at her wit’s end, his eyes closed. “I’m not going to have this argument with you anymore, Niall. Get with the witch program, or go back to the house and pout with Liam.”

Niall sighs. “Fine. But if I get possessed or something, I’m going full fuckin’ Evil Dead on you.”

“I look forward to it. Now.” He bows slightly to Gemma. “Carry on, if you would.”

“Thank you.” Raising her hands, she sends the curse over the fire, letting it hover several feet above it. “I banish you, curse of the unknown. I remove you from this household and break your spell. Three times, I banish you.” She releases the bubble around it. “In the common parlance of our times, go fuck yourself.”

She releases the curse, removing the bubble around it, and it drops into the fire. There’s another _whoosh_ of air, the flames rising higher, and then an unearthly shriek rises from the firepit. Harry claps his hands over his ears, but as soon as it comes, it’s gone, easing out like the wind moving through them. A haze of sparks go rushing up into the sky and the fire crackles and pops, the blood inside hissing. The acrid smell of burning fur fills the air. _Poor rabbit_ , Harry thinks, biting his lip.

“Okay, Niall. Throw some salt in there.”

“What the fuck,” Niall says, shaking his head. “ _What_ the _fuck._ ” Still, he does as she says, tossing in handfuls of salt like he’s scattering flowers at a wedding. “Get banished,” he mutters. “Fuck off outta here.” The fire flares around them, but aside from a faint hissing, there’s no more shrieking.

“Okay, now we wait for the fire to burn out,” Gemma says, sitting down on a log and clasping her hands over her knees. “Then we dump more salt on it and bury it.”

“And then?” Louis asks.

“More salt around it. Should keep the curse under wraps and also keep away whoever made it in the first place.”

“You don’t think they’ll come back, do you?”

She shrugs. “I’ve no idea. But I think we should do a ritual, just in case, to make sure that even if they do, they can’t mess with you again.”

Niall hugs the salt to his chest, coming to sit down beside them. They frame the firepit, Harry sitting with Louis across from Gemma. “What do you have in mind?” Louis asks.

“A healing ritual. It’s pretty clear that you could all use it, especially after tonight. It’ll help all of you sort out your energies, and hopefully then we can put some protective wards in place to keep whoever might be doing this away from you.”

“How would we do that?”  

“It’s sort of complicated, but I can explain if you’re really interested.”

“I am,” Louis says. Niall nods in agreement. Harry has a feeling they’re not really that interested, but they don’t know what else to do while they wait.

So she talks about ley lines and the natural energy of the world, about places in the veil of reality that grow thin over time, where spirits and entities slip through the cracks. She talks about wards, protective shields that they can use around a perimeter; she talks about magical alarms and traps they can set that will alert them if anyone unwelcome decides to try and come in. All the while the fire crackles between them, and it would be nice, if Harry didn’t know they’d just burned a curse inside it.

Gemma has her tarot set on her in her coat pocket, so they use it to play cards for a while, a few rounds of bridge where it’s Harry and Gemma versus Niall and Louis until they switch. Gemma and Niall are dynamite and more than once, Louis tosses his cards away in disgust, the cards automatically flying back to join the rest of the deck without Gemma even having to snap her fingers. They’re magic like that.

“Anyone fancy a reading?” Gemma asks, shuffling the deck without even using her hands. “We’ve got time.” She sends Harry a significant look. “Haz?”

He tries to ask with his eyes, but she just shakes her head the tiniest amount. “Erm, yeah, sure,” he says. “Why not?”

They both stand and Niall looks up from where he’s drawing in the damp dirt with a bit of wood. “Oi, where’re you going?”

“Silly, readings are _private_. He’s not going to want to own up to anything in front of _you_.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Niall calls after them as they head for the trees. “We’ve got no secrets!”

Harry sighs. If only that were actually true. There are a lot of little things they don’t tell each other, things that might seem insignificant, but are actually the biggest, most hidden truths in simple disguises. Niall ought to know that better than anyone, since he is—weirdly enough—the only person besides Gemma who knows Harry’s.

“What’s this about?” Harry asks, keeping his voice as low as he can. He knows Louis has impeccable hearing, one of his vampire perks, along with incredible eyesight. He can probably see them through the trees even now. Harry can’t see much of anything, except the dark trees around them and Gemma, her face shadowed.

“I think you should call Mum.”

“What? Why?” He gestures back toward the firepit. “You couldn’t have said this in front of them?”

“No, because I’m not suggesting you do it more often just to ask after the cats and Robin. I’m saying I think you should call her and ask for help. Better yet, come home with me when I go. Stay at hers for a few days, maybe a few weeks, even. Just until this blows over.” Gemma takes a deep breath, folding her arms across her chest. He recognizes that gesture; it’s what she does when she has to do or say something that she really doesn’t want to. “Harry, I love you to pieces, but I think you’re in way over your head here.”

“What? I can’t _leave_. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because we found the curse, we’re fine! And you said it yourself. We can put some wards in place, do a healing spell, and be right as rain.”

Gemma stares at him. “If you really believe that, this curse has messed with your head way more than I thought. Harry, someone very powerful _cursed you_. Not only that, but today, earlier? Dunno if you remember, but you stopped time! Hate to break it to you, but you’re not supposed to be able to do that. Something’s going on here, and I just—I have this _feeling_ that it’s not something we’re meant to know.” She bites her lip. “I think we really stumbled into something bad.”

“Well, if that’s true, then I can’t just go. Gem, I’m sorry, but I can’t leave them to just deal with this. I’ve got to fix this.”

She laughs a little, shaking her head. “What if this is something you can’t fix?”

“I can. Okay? I just need some time.”

“Harry, not even you can fix everything.”

He gives her a weak smile. It’s the only thing he can offer right now, the only semblance of something normal and reassuring. “Wanna bet on that?”

When it’s clear he isn’t going to budge, Gemma sighs. “You’re so stubborn. It drives me mad.”

“Well, if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be me. Would I?”

Gemma just sighs again, chewing on her lip. “I hope you know what you’re getting into.” She turns and walks away without saying anything more, leaving him to scramble to catch up to her.

They head back to the fire just in time for Niall to shout for them to hurry, that it’s dying down and will be ready soon. Gemma summons one of the shovels from the garden while they’re waiting, the flames growing smaller and smaller by the minute.

“So?” Louis asks, nudging Harry’s elbow gently.

“So?” he repeats.

“Your cards. You don’t have to say if you don’t want, but I just thought—”

“Oh. We only had time for one. She’s a talker, that Gemma.” Harry picks one at random, just throwing it out there with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Seven of Swords, reversed.”

“Seven of Swords, reversed? Hm. That’s…breaking free, innit?”

Harry turns to look at him. “How’d you know that?”

Louis shrugs, cheeks going pink almost like he’s _embarrassed_ , which is ridiculous because Louis never gets embarrassed, ever. Their sex life is pretty clear evidence of that. “I, uh. I’ve been reading some of your books. Been making my way through a tarot one lately.”

Harry grins. “Well, look at you. You’ve been reading my books. Learning witchy things.”

Louis nods. “Figured why not? I may not have your power, but it wouldn’t hurt to know the difference between certain herbs, candle colors, things like that.” He smiles proudly. “I have nearly all the Swords memorized.”

“Swords, huh? That’s the Air suit.”

“Yep. Most powerful, apparently. According to some people.”

“And the most dangerous, some would say.” Harry pokes Louis’ shoulder. “Go on, then. Dazzle me with your new knowledge.”

“Give me a card and I’ll tell you it’s meaning. Up to the Page, anyway.”

“Nine. Upright.”

“Anxiety.” Louis’ eyes are particularly blue at that moment, touched by the fire’s light. “Nightmares.”

That brings to mind their waking that early morning, and Harry’s face warms a little. He bites his lip. “Five, then. Also upright.”

“Some kind of conflict. Possibly betrayal.”

“Hm. You’re pretty good at this. What about the Ace?”

Louis smiles. “That’s the first one I learned. Upright, or reversed?”

“Either.”

“Truth, justice. Battle. Great power.”

A gust of wind blows through their clearing and the fire goes out. Gemma’s orbs of light are still there, floating up and down like they would in water, but Harry’s eyes strain to adjust to the sudden dimness.

Louis touches the back of his hand with his fingertips. “Well, that was spooky.”

Harry doesn’t answer because all of it hits him at once: The revulsion twisting in his stomach, the tiredness from the lack of sleep and the nightmares, the feeling of being completely and utterly out of tune with his energies. It’s like he’s been walking along a road for a very long time carrying an immensely heavy pack so his shoulders and the small of his back burn and ache, and behind his eyes there is that pressure of another great, looming headache growing to overwhelming pain. His mouth tastes like ash and he can feel it even across the forest and the field: the energy and the magic in their house, clinging to their clothing and skin, is _tainted_.

He sways, dizzy with the rush of negative energy, the way it has its dark fingers coiled into every part of him, and Louis catches him effortlessly with a graceful arc of motion. “And _there_ he is,” Louis says, brushing curls out of his eyes. “Chin up, love. Deep breaths.”

From behind them, there’s a groan. Niall is clutching his head, his salt forgotten. “Oh, Jesus. What kind of shit…”

Gemma takes up the salt and finishes the spell, pouring liberal amounts of it into the ashes and burying it all with her bare hands. “Feel it now?” she calls.

“Ugh,” Harry says. “I feel a little sick.”

“I’ll still love you, even if you throw up on me,” Louis says.

“Thanks.” Harry takes a deep breath, but he can still taste the badness of it all in his mouth. It’s all over him and he wants to burn all of his clothes and buy new ones. “That’s true love right there.”

“Right?” Louis touches the swell of Harry’s cheekbone, brushing over it with his thumb. “Really, though. Are you okay?”

“Not really. But I will be.” He grips a fistful of Louis’ sweater, holding on tight. “Take me home?”

Louis smiles and it’s just like it should be, just like it always is. “Thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

 When they return to the house, Liam is visible and corporeal, sitting on the sofa with a beer in hand. He looks up when they come in, all of them damp and reeking of smoke. The look on his face is dazed, to say the least, but his eyes are clearer than they have been in weeks. 

“So,” he says, and Harry swears he blushes. “Erm. About everything…”

Niall holds up a hand. “Wait. Don’t apologize. You want the long version, or the short version?”

“There are different versions?” Liam’s frown deepens. “What exactly happened?”

“Right, long version it is. Walk with me, Liam, I’m starved.” Liam gets up and follows him into the kitchen, where Niall starts with, “So, turns out we’ve been cursed…” When Liam squawks at that, Niall settles in to explain, banging around pots and pans the way he always does.

The other three remain, Gemma looking particularly pensive, biting her lip. She glances between them and away.

“Uh, so,” Louis gestures to the loo in the hallway. “We’re gonna—”

“I need a shower,” Harry says, and he practically holds his breath as he says it because it’s _everywhere_ in the house, the air thick with it, like mold. “I might also be sick,” he adds. He still hasn’t ruled out the possibility of puking.

Gemma nods. “I’ll make some tea. Wave some sage around, get some of the nastiness out of here before we can do a proper spell of it. Tomorrow, I think. If you’re up to it.”

Harry tells her where he keeps his sage before Louis whisks him off to the loo. He sits him on the edge of the claw-foot tub, instructing him not to move. He disappears and returns carrying new clothes for Harry and a stick of sandalwood incense that he lights with a flick of one of his many lighters. While that goes, curling cleansing smoke up into the air around them, Louis draws the water for a bath and sets the clothes on the back of the toilet.

“I know you said shower,” he says, “but I think you could stand to marinate for a while. Get some of that stress out.”

Harry wrinkles his nose, arms wrapped loosely around himself. “That’s a gross word when it comes to taking baths, Lou. Like I’m a lamb-chop.”

“You’re _my_ lamb-chop, obviously.”

“That would explain all the biting.”

“Mm-hm. Just can’t help meself.”

Harry smiles.

Louis helps Harry undress with minimal groping, then helps him into the tub when the water is hot enough. He’s just a helpful sort of person, something Harry has definitely not appreciated lately. It makes his stomach writhe in a way that is decidedly not conducive to not puking, his chest tight with the guilt. He’s the one who’s always harping about secrets, about how he wants to be free, but there’s been a lot he hasn’t been saying the last few weeks, a lot of things he’s been keeping close to his chest. Too close, even for Louis to see through.

Harry sinks down low enough in the water that his neck rests on the edge of the tub and he closes his eyes.

“Want some of your salts?” Louis asks, perusing the shelf over the back of the toilet. He snorts. “Because we haven’t had enough salt lately, right? Both the table and attitude variety.”

Harry’s smile widens. “Well, you know what they say. Variety is the _spice_ of life.”

With a completely straight face, Louis replies, “Good thing you’re such a salt of the earth guy.”

“I wouldn’t be a witch worth his salt if I wasn’t.”

Louis lets out a half-laugh, half-huff of breath. “We’ll just salt that away for another time, shall we?”

“Yes, best not to rub salt in our wounds for now.”

“It’s wise to take things with a grain of salt.”

“This conversation is a- _salt_ -ing my ears.”

Louis outright laughs at that one, the sound echoing, bouncing off the tile walls and floor. “All right, I’ve underestimated your ability to whip out puns for the last time. I concede.”

“As you should.” Still, Harry takes the victory, cracking his eyes open to watch him. He’s fiddling with the lid for the bath salts marked with a purple ribbon.

When he notices Harry watching, he shakes it a little. “Lavender. Calming, right?”

“Look at you,” Harry murmurs. “I should just retire at this point. Let you take over the witch business.”

“Can’t retire from who you are,” Louis says, unscrewing the lid. “Trust me, I’ve tried.” He spreads a handful of the bath salts in the water and the scent of lavender, cool and tickling Harry’s nose, fills the air. Already, he feels a little bit better, but nothing will unravel the knot currently sitting heavy in his stomach. Nothing but him, anyway.

“Louis?”

“Hm?” Louis screws the lid back on.

“I’m sorry.” He sits up, drawing his knees up to his chest, the ends of his hair swirling softly along the surface of the water.

“Sorry?” Louis frowns, looking over. “For what?”

“For what? For everything!” Harry shakes his head so vigorously that water goes arcing to the floor from the ends of his hair. “I—I should’ve known what was happening, and during it I was _wretched_ —”

“Harold,” Louis says patiently, a touch of amusement in his voice. “Darling witch boy, light of my life. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But—”

“No buts! You were cursed. _We_ were cursed. They made it expressly so you couldn’t tell what was going on. And so you were being a bit of a knob – so what? Who isn’t, every now and again? We all fit that bill lately.” Louis pushes an errant chunk of hair out of his eyes. “Besides, I still like you even when you’re grumpy and distant.”

“But—”

“Harry, I was dead serious.” He grins at his own joke. “No more buts. There is nothing to apologize for and nothing to forgive. Now, if you can’t get that through your head, I’m going to have to do something really crazy.”

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“It’s a secret. So you better watch it.” Louis narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at Harry.

“But Louis—”

“All right, that’s it. I’ve had enough. I tried warning you.” Louis kicks his shoes off, pulling his socks off after them. Harry watches, stunned, as he climbs into the bathtub, clothes and all.

“ _Louis_!”

“I told you, I’d do something crazy!”

He sits down across from Harry, water splashing up over the edges of the tub, and Harry can’t help the breathless laughter it pulls out of him.

“There,” Louis says, clapping his hands on his soaked knees. “Now we’re even.”

Louis helps him wash some of the magical grime off himself, using the soap Harry made. He gets his back and uses Harry’s shampoo, too, helping him rinse his hair. There is a particular kind of pleasure in Louis’ fingers gently digging into his scalp, massaging it clean and then rinsing it with warm water, that Harry thinks is probably the best feeling on this entire planet. When he’s scrubbed clean, pink and fresh and absolutely reeking of vanilla and lavender, he feels better. More himself. Aligned. Less likely to throw up.

Calmer, Harry pushes off his edge of the tub and floats to Louis. Louis pulls him in, letting him settle between his legs, sprawled over his chest like he’s a mermaid and Louis is his forbidden love who walks on land. In a way, it’s not so far off the mark.

“Why am I not surprised?” Harry murmurs, after long moments of silence save for quiet laughter and pleased hums. “That we’re not supposed to be together?”

“Ah, is that what’s been on your mind? Well, I imagine the vampire who signed that treaty thought he was doing what was right at the time.”

Harry tilts his head, looking up at Louis. “How could one vampire do it, though? What’s the authority there?”

“Well, there’s the Courts, you know. There’s, erm…nine, I think? That sounds about right. And basically what it comes down to is they have authority in whatever area is being affected. Does that make sense? So not all the Courts signed treaties like this. It honestly depends.”

“So it’s like…different countries having different laws.”

“Yeah. Like, I know for instance the Court of London and Court of Paris both signed treaties with their respective witch Councils as a sort of keep-away thing. But I couldn’t say for sure in places like, Moscow, or Beijing. Probably, honestly. People get scared. And London and Paris set a precedent when they did theirs. The others have seen it supposedly working, and decided to follow suit.”

“I just don’t get it. We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Well. Until today, we never really had to worry about our powers. This Liam incident, though…”

“Gemma got their memories.”

“Yeah, but she can’t keep doing that. _You_ can’t keep doing that. What if it’s something worse next time? Things always slip through the cracks, Harry. That’s what the Council and Courts are trying to protect themselves against. The witch hunts of the past have shaken them.”

“I’m just so tired of all the secrets.”

Louis’ arms tighten around Harry. “I know, love. Me too.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, Harry watching the smoke of the incense spread around the ceiling. It burns his eyes a little, but that’s how he knows it’s doing its job. “I can’t believe it’s October and I haven’t started decorating for Halloween,” he says and Louis laughs.

“That’s how I knew something was wrong here. This is the holy month. It’s Halloween every day, but the first came and went.”

“We’ll have to fix that.”

“Sure. Say the word.”

Louis traces patterns on his shoulder, finger moving in a spiral, like he’s figuring out a labyrinth. From beyond the door, he hears Gemma laugh. _Tell him_ , he thinks. _You’ve got to tell him._

“Louis,” Harry says quietly, his heart beating faster. “Remember when I asked you what would happen if I drank your blood?”

Louis frowns. “No. When was that?”

“Uh. That time after you did up the garden for me.” When Louis doesn’t answer, Harry huffs. “You know, that time with the gladioluses. Afterward…”

“Oh, right. _Right._ I remember now.” When it’s Harry’s turn to frown, Louis smiles and shrugs. “Sorry, you asked me during sex! How am I supposed to remember that? I was slightly preoccupied, if you recall.”

“Uh-huh. I asked you after, too."

"Okay, so?"

"So I was wondering if you knew? What would happen, I mean.”

Louis shrugs. “No idea. I mean, if you were a regular person, you’d turn into a vampire because I’ve had your blood before. But you’re not. You have to take your magic into consideration here."

“You think so? You don’t think it would overpower it somehow?”

Louis shakes his head. “Doubt it. To be quite honest, Haz, I think your magic is much stronger than my own brand of supernatural. Even for as long as I’ve been alive, I think your talent far surpasses mine. Today was proof of that.”

Harry smiles, scoffing and rolling his eyes at that. “I’m already naked and on top of you, you don’t have to flatter me.”

“Speaking of…” Louis makes a face, shifting uncomfortably beneath Harry. “Maybe we should get out? These jeans are starting to chafe a bit.”

“You’re the one who jumped in here fully-clothed.”

“Harry, let’s not point crazy fingers, all right? The past is the past. Here.” Louis leans to grab a towel from the counter, holding it up for Harry.

He takes it, standing, dripping water all over Louis, who grins and opens his mouth like he’s catching raindrops. Harry wrinkles his nose, flicking his wet hair at him as he wraps the towel around himself. He gets out and dries himself off, using a towel to wrap up his hair. He gets dressed while Louis watches, sodden and forlorn, the water draining around him.

“You know what we need?” Harry asks, buttoning the silky shirt Louis grabbed for him. “An en suite bathroom.”

“So we didn’t always have to get dressed? You read my mind.”

“We should do some renovation.”

“Think so?” Louis leans his head on his hand, looking up at Harry. “I figured since it was your great-great-aunt’s, you wouldn’t want to change much.”

“Not much. But a few details here and there could be nice.”

“You know what else would be nice? My nature-spouse fetching me some new clothes.”

“On it.”

When Harry leaves the loo, it’s to the other three watching Great British Bake Off, the smell of something warm and bright—marinara, Harry’s guessing—in the air. “Ah, Mary Berry,” Harry says, leaning over the couch to see what’s happening. “My queen, my lifelong inspiration.”

Niall rolls his eyes. “You’re _so_ gay.”

“You know she’s a witch?”

“Not everyone is a witch just because you love them.”

“No, he’s right,” Gemma says seriously. “She’s been at the Beltane festival for spring just about every year. Makes a mean lemon tart.”

“Well, _yeah_ ,” Harry says. “She’s Mary Berry.”  

“Harry,” Louis shouts from the loo. “Stop talking about GBBO and bring me new pants!”

Three sets of eyebrows raise slowly and Harry feels that of all the things in life, he has never deserved judgment of this nature. “He’s in the tub,” he clarifies, without knowing why he feels the need to. “He jumped in with me. Clothed.”

“Uh-huh,” Liam says.

Niall sniffs, reaching for his beer. “I’ve learned not to ask questions by now.”

“No, you really haven’t,” Liam says, making a face.

“ _Anyway_ ,” Harry says. He goes into his and Louis’ room, going through their dresser and pulling out new clothes for Louis. He would float them into the loo, but since he’s basically a normal human for the time being, he carries them.

When he returns, he can’t help but laugh at Louis. He looks like a puppy who got left out in the rain.

“So,” Harry says casually, as Louis peels off his wet clothes, “have you seen people changed into vampires before?” Back on track. He can’t let it be derailed, or he’ll never have the nerve to say something again. GBBO can wait, damn it.

“Yep.” He buries his head under a towel, drying his hair.

“Really? You never told me.”

He doesn’t answer for a long time. Harry pulls himself up on the counter, kicking his legs and sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. He holds onto the edge of the countertop like he’s going to fall off of it and down the rabbit hole.

“It’s just a lot,” Louis finally says, resurfacing from his towel.

“What, the lavender?” Harry sniffs the air curiously. “I mean, we did use the bath salts…”

“No, I mean it’s a lot to deal with. The memories.” Louis takes a deep breath and Harry can see the rise and fall of his chest. “That’s why I haven’t told you.”

Harry freezes. Slowly, he nods. “Right, yeah. Of course. Uh. Can I ask—?”

“Anything.”

“So you’ve seen it happen.”

Louis nods. A small crease appears between his eyebrows. “Mm-hm. It’s…not pleasant.”

Harry decides not to push on that front, not yet. “How much blood did it take?”

“Not that much. Less than a liter.” His frown deepens a little and he suddenly looks very much like an incredibly perturbed cat who has been dumped beneath the spray, all narrowed eyes and hair plastered to his face. “Why the sudden interest?”

 _Red alert,_ Harry thinks, his cheeks heating. He hands Louis another towel as he gets out of the tub. “Just curious,” he says, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. “You’ve never really talked about it before and I got to thinking about it the other day.”

“Got to thinking, huh.” Louis says, skimming his fingers across Harry’s knuckles as he takes the towel. “You wouldn’t have some sort of wild idea in mind, would you?”

Harry tries to look as innocent as possible, which is hard when he’s actually trying and even worse considering he’s not innocent at all. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, Lou.”

Louis smiles at that, but there’s still a knowing look in his eyes. “Uh-huh. Yet you keep bringing it up. What are you up to?”

“ _Up to_? How could you ever think—”

“You’re a witch, darling,” Louis says. “In one way or another, you’re _always_ up to something.”

Harry can’t argue with that. He can’t help it sometimes. He just wants to _know_ things, to shape them, be a part of them. And their future together is at the top of the list of those things. Ever since their trip to London, it’s something he can’t stop thinking about. He knows he should stop, that he should put it away and learn to ignore it. Louis is content to just let it all unfold the way it’s meant to. But for the first time in his life, Harry doesn’t _want_ to. He wants to be around longer, he wants to stay with Louis for as long as he possibly can.

And if that means turning into a vampire, well…okay. Harry would, given the chance, quite literally die for him. Louis is worth it.

Hence why he’s been doing loads of research on what exactly would happen should he maybe, possibly, drink some of Louis’ blood. No big deal.

As if he knows, Louis watches him carefully as he gets dressed in the hoodie and joggers Harry brought him.

Harry pets Louis’ damp hair absently, running his fingers through it. “Sorry I can’t dry it for now.”

“Looks like you’re a real boy after all.” Louis frowns quizzically. “Why d’you wanna know about this, anyway?”

“Science.”

“Uh-huh. This is more than just scientific curiosity. You didn’t bug Zayn this much when he wouldn’t let you know things about Atlantis.”

“That’s easy, Lou.” Harry grins, mussing Louis’ hair and then smoothing it back down. “I don’t love Zayn as much as you.”

“Okay, sure.” Louis holds up a warning finger. “Don’t think you can ease my suspicion with petting, either.”

“It’s never stopped me before.” Louis _hmph_ s at that, but Harry’s somewhat of an expert at noticing his little dodges nowadays. “So, theoretically.”

“Oh, here we go. Remember that thing I said about memories?”

“I know. Just humor me for a second, will you?”

Louis turns around, leaning against the wall in front of Harry, arms folded over his chest. “Okay. Humoring.”

“ _Theoretically_ , what do you think would happen if maybe I had some of your blood?”

“Theoretically, I think you could die. I don’t know about your magic and what influence that could have, but it’s a very large, very real possibility.”

“Theoretically, what if I were to suggest we give it a go?”

Louis laughs. “Okay.”

“That wasn’t a joke, Lou.”

“Really? Because it sure sounded like one.” He frowns. “What _are_ you on about?”

“I’m serious, okay? Like what would happen if we did it, do you think?”

“See, thing is, I _try_ not to think about that. Like, daily. Because that sounds like a _nightmare_ , Harry.”

“You can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious.”

Louis pushes off the wall, stalking out of the loo. “Nope.”

Harry scurries after him, following down the hallway and into their bedroom. Harry closes the door behind them, hands behind his back as he leans against it. Louis stands several feet away from him and Harry can see the way his mind is working through the information Harry’s given him.

“Let me get this straight: Is this a thing you’re suggesting we actually _do_?”

“Yes.”

Louis looks at him and he gets it all at once, the realization lighting his eyes with a cool fire. “This is what you’ve been up to in the cellar. You’ve been researching—”

“The effects of your blood on me. Yeah.”

Louis sits down on the end of their bed, slowly. “Okay,” he says, letting out a breath. He claps his hands together, bringing them up to his mouth like he’s praying. “Explain, Harry.”

“From a scientific standpoint, I think it could be really interesting to study! We know what happens when a regular person drinks your blood. But what about me?”

“You, who I’ve been drinking consistently for six months? When we’ve already established that’s how you turn someone into a vampire? No. No way!”

 “Why not? It’s for _science_ , Louis.” Harry spreads his arms wide, like he’s gesturing to a glittering field of possibilities. “Think of the academia!”

“There won’t be any academia if you’re dead, I've told you."

"You said you liked the academia."

"It’s too much of a _risk_.”

“Louis, I thought we talked about this. You and your rules—”

“We did, but this is different!” To Harry’s surprise, Louis’ voice sharpens. “This isn’t me accidentally losing control, this is you possibly dying in front of me in a way that I won’t be able to stop. It’s not like I have magic, I can’t just do what you do where you…” Louis moves his hands around like he’s casting a spell. “You just separate things and get rid of what you don’t want. I can’t do that.”

“What if we test it? Like if I only take a little?”

Louis shakes his head, closing his eyes. Almost unconsciously, he reaches back, grabbing one of their pillows. He wraps his arms around it, hugging it to his stomach. He looks pale for one of the first times in a long time and Harry’s starting to think bringing this up was a bad idea.

“I didn’t want to keep it from you. That’s why I’m telling you that I’ve been looking into this and it’s something I want to do, something I want to figure out.”

Louis opens his eyes and the severity of his stare nearly pierces Harry to the wall. “I’m sure the people who first synthesized _cyanide_ had the same idea.”

“Well, yeah. How else do you think they figured out how much is a lethal dose?”

“Oh my god,” Louis mutters. He holds up a hand. “I’m not talking about this anymore.”

“Louis, come on. It can’t—” Harry stops himself, biting his lip.

“What? Can’t hurt?” Louis scoffs.

“What if Niall tries some first?”

“Wouldn’t work. He’s resistant to it.” When Harry just looks at him, Louis explains, “The lycanthropy made his cells change, so vampirism just doesn’t work. It won’t do anything but taste like bad blood to him.” Louis sighs. “This just isn’t a good idea. All right?”

“Well, you know what they say,” Harry says, “a spoonful of sugar—”

“Mary Poppins wasn’t a _vampire_ , Haz.”

“No, but she _was_ a witch. One of the best. She knew what she was talking about, so I have to try.”

Louis ignores that. “Why? Why the sudden interest? In all these months, you’ve never said a word about it before.”

Harry’s heart stumbles a little, his cheeks flushing. “What? The interest isn’t sudden. I just…got to thinking. It’s something I’ve been wondering about for a while.”

“Right. You know what,” Louis says. “Here’s a better question: What happens if it works?”

“If what works?”

“My blood. What happens if you turn into a vampire? What happens if you lose your magic?”

“That won’t happen,” Harry says surely, though there’s a whisper of doubt nagging at him. He doesn’t know what will happen, not until they do it, and by then – if Louis is right – it might be too late to take it back.

“You don’t know that for sure,” Louis insists. He sits up, arms holding the pillow so tightly it’s practically folded in half. “Just listen to me, please. I don’t want to fight about this, I know it’s something you really want. But if you turn into a vampire—I can’t do that. Not to you.”

“Why?” Harry moves away from the door. “I can think of worse things than spending eternity together.”

“Harry, you’ll _die_. You’ll die and it’ll hurt and I’ll have to sit by and watch, without being able to stop it or fix it. Then you’ll come back and you’ll be like me.”

“And that’s bad? I love you, Louis, why wouldn’t I want—”

“Your magic will be _gone_. You’re a witch, your magic is tied to life! I’ve known you long enough now to know that and I don’t want to do that to you, to take that from you. Who would you be without it?”

That’s a thought Harry has never had to consider. His being a witch is so ingrained in his identity, so tied to who he is and has been his entire life, he has no idea what it would be like to _not_ be one. “Wouldn’t it be interesting to find out?”

“No,” Louis says seriously, “I really don’t think so.”

“We don’t know that any of that is even going to happen,” Harry says, shaking his head. “And even if it does, you’re not to blame.”

“Aren’t I? If I agree to this, then I’m complicit, I’m responsible. And what happens if this is how it goes? You might not see me as the person who stripped you of your powers now, but over the centuries? That can grow to resentment, Harry. I’ve been alive a long time, I’ve seen it happen—”

“That wouldn’t happen, not with us.”

“Harry—”

“‘No more let Life divide what Death can join together.’ Percy Shelley wrote that for Keats.”

Louis stares at him and Harry can see it hit him, can see the understanding flash in his eyes. “So _that’s_ what this is about. You _want_ to be together forever, you want to sacrifice your magic for the chance to be immortal. I thought I said I didn’t care about that anymore, back in London.”

“But that doesn’t mean I don’t.” This terrible idea is like a wildfire in his mind, one that Harry just can’t put out, no matter how hard he tries. He can’t get away from it.

“‘What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder.’”

“What is that?” Harry asks, tilting his head curiously.

“Aldous Huxley. _Brave New World._ ” Gently, Louis sets the pillow down. “Death can’t stop this from happening, can’t stop us from feeling. It hasn’t even stopped us so far, with me. Don’t let this get in the way. You’re always the one who says I don’t need to change; well, neither do you. I love you precisely as you are and I will for as long as we have.”

Harry opens his mouth to refute that somehow, because it’s _not enough_ , not when considering the scope of Louis’ life and how pitiful Harry’s seems in comparison. If his life is just here and gone in the blink of an eye, does anything in it matter? Will anything he does count for anything when he knows how much Louis has done and seen? Making plants grow and shooting glitter out of his fingertips seem too inconsequential now when considering only Louis can stand against the withering of time, entire civilizations buried beneath sand, forgotten to everyone but him.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says softly. “I don’t want to hurt you. You’re the best person to come along in my life and I just want to protect you.”

“You’re…” Harry straightens, working the words through his mind. “You’re a hypocrite.”

Louis’ eyes widen. “What did you just say?”

“You’re a hypocrite, Lou. Aren’t you the one who said we have to stop hurting each other, thinking we’re doing what’s best for the other? Maybe this _is_ what’s best. Have you considered that?”

“Harry—”

“No!” He doesn’t mean to say it so vehemently, but there he is, emotion welling up in his chest. It’s both a blessing and a curse to be a witch, to feel things as deeply as he does—and right now, he feels like he’s drowning. “ _You’re_ fine with it, Lou. You’re fine with just being together until I die and that’s great. But what about _me?_ What if I’m not fine with it now? What if I don’t want to die? What if I don’t want to lose you? What if I don’t want to be lost?”

“Harry, you of all people know how nature works. Death is a part of it, that’s _why_ I’m—I’m something different, something darker beyond that. Me and Niall and Liam, we’re all going to be outside of that circle of light, always.” He doesn’t look at him with pity, but Harry can hear it in his voice all the same. His cheeks even have the audacity to turn pink, though it’s a ghost of the actual color, a pale imitation of the real thing.

Harry can hear the unspoken clearly: _You’re not._

Louis’ aura is maddeningly, statically, silver. It will never change.

_What if nothing ever does?_

Before he can say anything else, there are footsteps outside. Someone knocks at the door. “Hey, you two.” It’s Gemma, sounding hesitant. No doubt she can feel, even amidst all the terrible energy already present, the negativity of their conversation crackling around them. “Dinner’s ready.”

“Okay,” Harry calls but he keeps looking at Louis. “We’ll be out in a second.”

Her footsteps recede. Louis looks down at the floor, at the scatter of his books and records and clothes, always in a mess, always all over the place. It’s not really a fight, since nobody’s voice truly rose, and it’s not really an argument either, but it _feels_ like being on the opposite of a large chasm. Harry knew he’d be upset, but not like this, not enough to flat-out refuse. He thought he’d at least see _reason_.

Louis laughs suddenly, mirthlessly. “Now I know why you were apologizing earlier.”

“Louis—”

Slowly, Louis drags his gaze up to Harry. “You should probably go,” he says, smiling, but it’s a tight smile, one that Harry isn’t used to seeing on his face. “Get something to eat and all.”

 _Since you can._ The differences between them often go unsaid, but only now does Harry feel them so acutely that he can hardly think straight.

Harry turns to go.

Somehow, it feels like losing. 


	2. you make it look like it's magic

That night, Harry comes to bed late and leaves early the next morning before work. He doesn’t say much of anything at all to Louis beyond the usual pleasantries and Louis can feel the lingering, quiet emotions he leaves behind when he goes. It’s not so much anger, though, if Louis’ being honest. It feels more like disappointment, tastes more like dissatisfaction when Louis rolls over, burying his face in Harry’s pillow. He sighs.

No more secrets. That’s what Harry always says. It’s too bad that Louis still has a couple more up his sleeve, like little notes he left himself that he nearly forgot about. As if he could forget them, not when they insist on remaining so present in his life.

 _I should probably tell him_ , he thinks as he gets out of bed, running his hands through his hair and brushing some of the tangles free. There’s really no _probably_ about it, but that same old fear comes creeping back before he can stop it, and every one of his thoughts is tinged with doubt. “Fuck,” he says quietly, rummaging through a drawer for his cigarettes, picking up a hoodie as he heads outside.

To his surprise, Gemma is sitting on the bench outside, legs curled up under her. She’s got a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. “Finally,” she says, setting her book down. “Niall got called in again apparently, Liam’s doing whatever ghosts do, and Harry raced out of here like he couldn’t wait to do filing or whatever it is he does.” She moves over a little, patting the cushion next to her. “Sit.”

Louis does as he’s bid, sitting down beside her and lighting his cigarette. She holds out a hand, eyebrows raised, and he hands his cigarette over, lighting a new one for himself.

“Didn’t know you smoked,” he says, exhaling around the cigarette.

“Only once in a while. When I’m trying to figure things out.” She leaves a mark, a ring of pink lipstick, around the filter. “Like why my brother left like that.”

 _Witches. Of course._ He can feign stupidity here, but that feels like a wrong move. Gemma already knows something is wrong. “We had an argument.”

“About what?” She sounds politely interested, but she’s not the only one with powers; he hears the undercurrent of her words, the subtle annoyance and suspicion. The threat.

Louis sighs. “I’m not sure. Maybe you can help me parse it out.”

“Sure, why not? It’s kind of my job as an older sister.”

So Louis tells her. He keeps some of the details to himself—the decades of murders interspersed throughout his life, the particulars of his and Harry’s sex life—but he tells her about Zayn leaving, about Harry’s emotions in the wake of that, about this idea of his.

“He’s taking this all really personally,” Louis says, sitting back, tapping his ash off. “And I’ve tried telling him it’s not about that, but it’s like…he sees it as an instance where I just don’t want to.”

“But you _don’t_ want to.”

“Well, obviously. But it’s not just to deny him, it’s because I don’t know what it’ll do to him.” _And because I’ve seen what it can do._

Gemma sighs a little. “Listen, you’ve got to understand something about my brother. He’s a _fixer._ Never saw a problem he didn’t want to solve. There’s a very real, very concerning problem in front of him now and he feels like it’s his job to figure it out. He’s always been like this, consumed with the need for knowledge, to know things. It’s how he deals with things. It’s how he makes himself powerful again when something or somebody makes him weak.”

Louis shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Right, well. Okay. Our dad left when Harry was still just a little boy. It was actually around the time he’d started showing signs of magic. He was a bit of a late bloomer; mine showed earlier, when I was about five or so. Dad didn’t leave because of Harry’s magic, and it wasn’t because of mine, or mum’s. He and my mum had their own issues to work through, and they’re still friends, we’ve seen him at holidays and things like that. But...” She trails off. “Have you got parents, Louis?” She laughs. “Well, of course you do, everyone’s got parents. But yours wouldn’t be alive, would they?”

“No, definitely not. And before you ask, no, we did _not_ get on. I’m better off without them.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure it wasn’t _that_ bad—”

“They murdered me,” Louis says calmly, bringing his cigarette up to his lips. “Or at least, I strongly suspect it was them. I’m quite sure they poisoned me to steal my throne, but I couldn’t prove it then and I certainly can’t now. And then I got fixed with that horrible nickname—” He exhales whorls of smoke, shaking his head. “It was just this whole ordeal and I’d rather not get into it, but I’m pretty sure it was actually _that bad_.”

She’s quiet for a moment, taking a drag of her own, before letting out a soft, “Jesus.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, anyway, the point I’m trying to make is about parents. When you’re a kid, it’s so hard to see outside yourself, isn’t it? We don’t really learn that sort of thing until we’re older. As I got older, I knew my parents’ divorce had nothing to do with me. But Harry…he’s always been the more emotional of the two of us and being younger, he really believed that it had something to do with him. It didn’t matter how often we tried to tell him, he just wouldn’t—or couldn’t—believe it. You can put a potion on to boil, but you can’t make it magic, right?”

“So you’re saying Harry has been blaming himself all these years.”

“Yes. Even if he doesn’t know it. It’s why he hides who he is, even when he thinks he isn’t. It’s why he lets himself be a secret. It’s how he deals with what he can’t control, like this curse. It’s why he tries so hard to know everything, to fix everything, so that he doesn’t feel as helpless as he did then. So that he can somehow…I don’t know, prove his worth and stop people from leaving him.”

Helpless. Just like Louis’ been feeling lately. Louis’ stomach feels hollow. It feels empty and wrecked and utterly, horrifically wretched. “And Zayn just left.”

Gemma sucks in one last mouthful of smoke, extinguishing her cigarette with magic. “So in his mind, he’s failed. And now he’s panicking. Who else is he going to lose? Your friends? You? Even worse, is there someone out there who’s going to take you from him?”  

She lights the cigarette on fire with a touch, burning it down until it’s ashes. She blows them away, out across the porch and into the wind. “That’s the thing about witches, Louis. We love, truly love, about once in our lives. Our mum thought she had that the first time around, but she didn’t; sometimes we mistake it. We’re such emotional beings that it seems as though it could be the real thing. I think in your case, it might be. Harry is absolutely in love with you; fate, soul mates, the whole shebang. And now he doesn’t really know what to do with himself because he’s just found you, he’s just found this all-encompassing happiness, and he’s aware all at once that it’s going to end because you are, for all intents and purposes, immortal.”

There’s a long silence and Louis rubs a hand over his face. He hands his cigarette over for her to do the same. “I’ve really fucked this up, haven’t I?”

“I wouldn’t say that, necessarily. But I will say you’ve opened a door.” His cigarette flares with flames. “And you can’t just close it because you don’t like what’s on the other side. It’s still going to be there, waiting.”

“So…” he asks. “What should I do?”

“You can close the door. That’s definitely an option. Or you can go through it, see where it takes you.” She smiles, snapping her fingers. “How about a complimentary reading?” she says, eyes glimmering. “A gift, from me to you.”

“Uh—”

“Splendid,” she says, as her tarot deck comes floating outside from inside, the door closing behind them. Using magic, she shuffles them. “All right. You’ll want three. Don’t look at them yet and flip them sideways, if you would. Don’t just pick randomly, either. There’s no time limit, you know? Hold your hand over them, get familiar with them. Let them choose you. Feel their energy.”

Louis eyes the cards fanned out before him, floating in the air. He holds a hand over them, but doesn’t touch, just hovers as he traces the curve of the cards. He closes his eyes, waiting, doing that thing he’s read about in some of Harry’s books – reaching out with energy. Visualizing it moving out of him, like breath, a slow, slinking stream.

His palm tingles. He picks that card, whatever it may be.

When he finally has three, he opens his eyes. Clouds have moved in across the sky, turning everything a soft gray.

“All right,” Gemma says. “Flip the first one.”

It’s upside down. On it are two skeletons embracing each other, one with a crown of flowers.

“Hm,” she says, looking down at it critically. “That’s interesting.”

“What is?”

“I usually draw The Lovers where you two are concerned, but this is different. I’ve never drawn it reversed before.”

“Right, I’ve been reading one of Harry’s tarot books. It has a different meaning that way, right?”

She nods. “Not always negative, but more…an antithesis to the upright interpretation.”

“That’s comforting. What’s it mean?”

“Disharmony in your relationship. There’s a breakdown between you. You’re not operating on the same wavelength any longer. There’s also an imbalance within both you and Harry, separately. At some point, you’re going to have to stop blaming yourself. Regret can only rule your life if you let it.”

It’s a good thing he doesn’t need to breathe, because doing so has suddenly become very difficult. She can’t possibly know about all that. Harry wouldn’t have told her. “What do you mean?”

“All that suffering you caused. And…” She reaches out, touching the corner of the card. Gemma closes her eyes, frowning. He suddenly gets the distinct feeling she knows exactly what is going on inside the furthest corners of his mind; that there’s no hiding a single thing from her gaze and understanding. “Even the ones you’re not responsible for. A boy, centuries ago. You lost him and now you’re afraid. You’ve lost everyone and it’s made you afraid.”

“That’s not—”

“If you keep blaming yourself, if you let the fear control you, you’re going to lose Harry as well. This goes for both of you.”

Louis licks his lips. His heart is beating surprisingly hard, almost painfully. “What’s the next card?”

She opens her eyes, letting go of The Lovers. “Turn it over.”

He flips the next one. On it, a cloaked figure stands with its head bowed, surrounded by five cups on the ground, three of which are overturned, spilling what looks like wine.

“The Five of Cups, upright.” Her voice sounds a touch lighter and she smiles at him. “This is a good sign, Louis.”

“Why?” He hasn’t memorized the Cups suit yet, just Swords.

“The Five of Cups is all about letting go. You’re learning from your past mistakes, and though there’s some lingering sadness and nostalgia, it’s about moving forward. It’s acceptance of who you used to be and who you are now. It’s about allowing yourself to be vulnerable and open again, to take risks and find the rewards. This is a beginning, Louis. It’s the sun after the storm.”

That eases some of the pressure in his chest, if only a little. Acceptance of the past. _Can_ he accept the past? Can he move forward with Harry from who he used to be?

Dryly, he says, “Sunlight can kill me, you know.”

“Not recently, from what I’ve heard.”

“It’s only because of him.” Louis sighs loudly, his stomach clenching again. “Everything I have is thanks to him now.”

“Hey, take some credit here. Growth in a relationship works both ways. You know? Physics. You can’t have an effect on anything in the universe without it having an effect on you right back, Changing, while allowing yourself to be changed. You ought to have a little more faith in yourself.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, deadpan. “I’ll put that on my to-do list straight away.”

“Ha-ha. Flip the last card, you master comedian.”

He turns the last one. A spoked wheel sits among the clouds, framed by flowers and sunlight.

“The Wheel of Fortune, upright. This is a reminder. The world keeps turning, through the bad times and the good. Though things are uncertain now, that’s not any indication that they’ll stay that way. Any struggle is a sign that, once endured, good will come to you. It’s also a reminder that, while the Universe and destiny has a hand in what you’ve been given, you shouldn’t be complacent. You should still go forth and work actively to make your situation better.”

Her smile widens. “Things _will_ get better. It’s just going to take some work and communication, like all relationships.”

“Right. Okay. So…” He taps each card so they go spinning slowly in the air like there’s no gravity.. “I guess I’m going through the door I opened.”

She snaps the cards up and they shuffle themselves back into the deck. “What do you think you’ll find on the other side?”

“Honestly? I’ve not a clue. But I’m willing to go. And isn’t that the point?”

She nods, laughing. “You’re already on your way. You know, I had my doubts about you at first, but you know what you’re about. Guess that comes with the territory of being over a thousand years old and dead and all.”

“ _Un_ dead, thank you very much.”

“Oh, so sorry, my mistake.” She rolls her eyes. Her smile dims a little as she looks out at the bushes empty of leaves that line the path up to their house. The tarot cards shuffle themselves again. “Can I say something? About your parents?”

“If I said no, would that stop you?”

“Not really.”

Louis waves a hand. “Sure, go ahead then.”

“I was just thinking. You didn’t like them and you think they’re responsible for your death. But if they hadn’t, you wouldn’t have become a vampire, would you? In a way, they led you to where you are. They were your doorway to this moment right now. It’s just taken you all these years to figure it out.”

He remembers suddenly telling Harry that, on their day of magic sunlight. _Being killed was the best thing that ever happened to me._ “You’re right.” He grins and clenches his fist, liking the way his skin stretches tightly over his knuckles. “I won after all, then. Because they’re the ones who are gone and I’m still here.” _For better or worse._

“Exactly. There’s always another way to look at things. And I guess that’s maybe the thing to remember with Harry. There’s always another way.” She stands up, grabbing her book and taking a quick drink of her coffee. “Anyway, I’m going to get properly dressed and then we’re going out.”

“We are?” Louis’ eyes dart back and forth. “Right now?”

“Of course we are. You’re going to show me around. I’m a _guest_. Christ, Louis, you were a king, surely you know how to be a good host.”

“Well, see, I died before I got to that part of the lesson.”

She rolls her eyes again, standing up. “Get dressed!”  

“Wait, hang on!” She stops at the door, looking back at him. “What should I do? About Harry.”

She laughs. “How should I know? But I bet the more you’re out of the house, the better you’ll be at figuring it out.”

Out of the house. Right. He stands at the edge of the porch, looking out. No crows, none that he can see. Gemma’s words echo back to him in his mind. _You’ve lost everyone and it’s made you afraid._ He can’t keep being afraid, not if he’s going to make this new life work, not if he’s going to make it work with Harry. And if that means going out where there’s a possibility he’ll run into some of the very real ghosts of his past, well…it’s a chance he’s going to have to take. Like he said, he’s willing to find out, to try, and that’s the point. That’s the point of everything.

“All right,” he grumbles. He goes back into the house.

As Gemma is getting dressed, she calls down to him from upstairs. “Oh, and Louis?”

“Yeah?” he shouts back, half-in a shirt. He leans halfway out his bedroom.

“If you turn my brother into a vampire, I’ll stake you,” she says cheerfully.

Despite her tone, he believes it whole-heartedly. “If I turn him into a vampire, I’ll let you.”

Louis finishes getting dressed and lets out a breath. It feels good sometimes, to let go of those breaths, like he’s letting go of a little bit of the weight he’s been holding onto for all these years. He can’t believe how much he missed breathing until he suddenly started doing it again. Now, he’s not sure he could go back, even if he wanted to.

He shakes another cigarette out of his pack, lighting it up as he waits for Gemma outside. He has a lot of thinking to do and, thankfully, a lot of time left to do it.

* * *

 It’s a slow day at work for Harry and that’s terrible because it gives him all sorts of time to _think_. He tries to distract himself. He plays with the kittens, who are big enough now that they’re practically cats. He steals all the elastic bands off Priya’s desk a few feet away from his when she’s out on her break and he makes a giant ball out of the combined bands, bouncing it a couple of times on the floor. Just one person comes in, an older woman with an African grey parrot that, in Harry’s opinion, has seen too many Shakespeare plays because as Priya takes it back to see the vet, it shouts, “God for Harry, England, and Saint George!”

When Harry eyes the woman, eyebrows slightly raised, she shrugs. “He loves the dramas,” she says, shaking her head. Harry nods in understanding, because of course. Who doesn’t.

It’s only when it’s near time to go that Harry can’t stop thinking about Louis. He probably shouldn’t have left the way he did that morning, all in a huff, but he hardly slept at all the night before either, wondering if he maybe pushed too far, if Louis is mad at him, if there’s a real reason behind it all. He can’t help wanting to know things, needing to know them. It’s who he is.

He’s not upset anymore, at least. He tried to cry on his way to work, but all that happened was his eyes watering and his nose running, to virtually no avail. He _wants_ to cry. He feels like he ought to. But what will that solve? It’s not that he’s sad. If anything, he feels keyed up, his heart beating so quickly in his chest that it’s making his head light and dizzy. If he stood up right now, he’s not entirely sure he wouldn’t throw up or fall over.

“Looks like anxiety, mate,” a voice says from beside him and he jumps.

“Liam!” He slaps a hand to his chest, his heart racing. “Don’t _do_ that!”

“Sorry.” He’s standing beside him, leaning across his desk. He’s wearing a Batman letterman jacket that Zayn bought him the last time they were all together on one of their excursions to London.

“What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d pop by, get out of the house for a bit. See what you do for work.” When Harry frowns, he grins. “Sorry, sorry. To be fair, I’ve been here a while. You just weren’t paying attention.”

“You were _transparent_. That doesn’t count.” Harry huffs a little, fiddling with the ends of the scarf he has tied around his curls. “So what, are we adding mind-reading to the list of your powers?”

“No, I can just tell. Being alive is terrifying; why _wouldn’t_ you have anxiety?”

Harry shrugs, conceding that point. Not that Liam would know much about life lately. He almost smirks; that was a Louis joke if he ever heard one. The very thought makes him even _more_ perplexed, his stomach turning. He doesn’t want to think of Louis and be upset.

Liam just gives him an appraising once over, from the hand cradling his cheek to the nervous tapping of his fingers against the desk’s surface. He solidifies a little more, taking a seat in Priya’s chair, wheeling it over from her desk. He pats one knee as an invitation.

Harry sighs but stretches out, laying with his legs across Liam’s lap. “I just don’t get it,” he says flatly.

Liam doesn’t ask him to clarify, which solidifies Harry’s suspicion that everybody knows what they were arguing about the night before. “I know. But have you tried—”

“If you say ‘looking at it from his perspective’, I’m going to kick you.”

Liam goes quiet. Somewhere in the back he hears the parrot shouting about letting loose the dogs of war and Priya’s bright laughter. He wants to enjoy it, but he feels like there’s this hole inside him now, just a huge, growing ache. He just _wants_ things. Wants the vision of life he’s had in his mind since meeting Louis. Wants to live a life with him, the best and most full one that they possibly can.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finds himself saying, his voice so quiet that it almost gets lost in the humming of his work computer and the water machine in the waiting room.

“Can I say something?”

Harry waves a vague hand and Liam nods. “It’s…strange, being dead. Everything kind of softens to grays. There’s a lot less color, and things aren’t as solid as they used to be. When you turn your head, everything you see sort of smears in your vision, like a painting in the rain. I talked to Lou about it, and he said it’s a bit like that for him, too.”

“Really?” _He never said_ _that_ _to me._

“Yeah. He said it _was_ like that, until he met you. And I think…I think that’s why he’s so scared.”

“Scared? Of me?”

“No, not of you. But losing you.” Liam touches his own chest gently. “Being connected the way we are, I can feel a lot of his emotions. And I know that’s what he’s feeling right now.”

Harry fiddles with his scarf again, tossing the band ball up and down. He forgets sometimes, that Louis and Liam have this connection, that Liam forged it not knowing what else to do, not knowing how else to stay, to hold on. Harry wonders how much of Louis’ feelings pass through to Liam. Does he feel his joy, his doubts? Or just the emotions that are so powerful, they’re nearly overwhelming?

“But if I turn into a vampire, he’s not—”

“He _is_ , though. He’d be losing you. _You_ would be losing you. I don’t think you realize it, Harry, but you’re the lifeline here. He explained anchors to me like this: if I’m a balloon, he’s the one holding the string to make sure I don’t fly away.”

“I told him that.”

“Yeah, but you still don’t see, do you? If he takes your magic away, that’s it. You’re not you anymore. See, we all became what we are. We’re all the same that way. We didn’t have a choice about it, me and the lads. We got turned into something else against our will. But you were born magic from the start. You were _meant_ to be this and it’s like…”

Liam runs a hand over his short cropped hair. “God, how do I explain this? You’re like a lantern and we’re moths drawn to your fire. Your magic helps us all in so many different ways. Louis’ world, and mine, they’re not just black and white anymore. He can go out in the sun and—look at me!” He gestures to himself, to the solidness of his arms and the bright yellow of his jacket. “Just sitting next to you makes me more real, now that we’re not cursed. And where would Niall be without the wolfsbane potion you make him? Where would any of us be without you?”

Harry blushes. “Liam, I think you’re exaggerating—”

“I’m not. What I’m saying is we’re the monsters of the house, us three. And you’re the one who lets us be okay with that. You remind us that we’re alive and we can feel and we’re…we’re home.” Liam pats Harry’s ankle, smiling. “I think you’re the anchor of our household. You’re the thing that binds us together.”

 _The thing._ _My_ thing. “I never had a thing,” Harry says, winding a curl around his finger. “I never knew what it was, not like Mum or Gemma. I just kind of assumed it would come to me someday when I was least expecting it.”

“Maybe we’re your thing.” Liam shrugs. “Maybe your thing is you. But that’s why Louis is scared. He doesn’t want to change you like we were. It’s sort of…well, destiny that you’re who you are, that we all met, that you join us together with these threads between us the way you do. And if he breaks that? If he takes that away from us all? If he destroys you? It would kill him.”

What was it Louis said? _What man has joined, nature is powerless to put asunder._

“He just doesn’t want to lose people anymore.”

Harry lets out a shuddering breath, the hair raising on his arms. “Me neither.”

They fall silent for a while, Harry mulling things over in his head. He never really thought about who he was to the rest of them, but when Liam puts it like that, it’s almost like he’s…cherished. His entire life, he’s spent questioning who he is, what he wants to do, where he belongs. He’s always wondered what his path is; every time he tried to divine it, it was never clear, something always blocking the way. _Maybe it was me,_ he thinks. _Maybe I was blocking the way of my own future._

_Maybe your thing is you._

Just then, the woman with the parrot and Priya come out, Priya talking about vitamin supplements that the woman can buy. Liam vanishes and Harry pulls his feet off Priya’s chair. “Call us if you have any problems,” she says, handing the parrot back to the woman to put into his cage.

“Get thee to a nunnery!”

“Goodbye,” Priya says, waving to him.

“Beware the Ides of March!” the parrot croaks, fixing her with a vaguely sinister yellow eye.

As the woman leaves, Priya sighs. “I never liked Shakespeare,” she says, hands in her pockets. “Too boring.”

“You didn’t enjoy the free show?” Harry asks, twirling a pen in his fingers.

“Hardly. He did the _entire_ Hamlet bit. You know, with the skull, or whatever? To be or not to be?” She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, aren’t you off now?”

As if summoned by her words, the front door opens. Harry’s eyes widen as he looks over because it’s Gemma and Louis coming into the small waiting area, Louis closing an umbrella. They’re both laughing and Harry is feeling like this is a very strange dream he had once.

“Hi,” Louis says, coming up to the front desk. “You know, a parrot just told me ‘uneasy lies the head that wears the crown’ in your carpark. Then it yelled ‘off with his head!’ at me and ate a biscuit.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Highlight of my day, honestly.”

“Yeah, that’s Julius, the parrot,” Priya says. She looks between Harry and Louis politely, questioningly.

Louis holds out a hand. “Oh, hi. You must be Priya. Harry talks about you loads.”

She laughs, a little taken aback. “Nothing odd, I hope.”

“No, just your adventures here, with the chickens and the puppies.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “They’re not all chickens. I helped a horse and a cow give birth, once. Separately, of course, not at the same time.”

“I was going to say, that sounds like magic,” Louis says with a grin. Harry frowns at him and he winks. “By the way, are those kittens still here?”

“Yep. They’re more like cats now, to be honest. And you are?” Priya asks, though not unkindly.

“Louis. Harry’s…boyfriend.”

“Oh, right, of course! He’s talked about you before. How lovely to finally meet you.” Priya sends him a significant look and Harry wants to crawl under his desk. It’s not that he was _hiding_ it, he just hadn’t really come up with a way to say something. I mean, what would that look like? ‘We’ve got a goat coming in at three next Thursday and by the way, I’m gay?’ Well, actually, he’s had worse ideas than that lately, but still. He never knows how people are going to react.

“And that’s my sister, Gemma,” Harry says. She was busy looking at some of the pictures of animals on the walls, some of which Harry is in. “She’s visiting right now.”

“You have family in town and you still came to work? The cheek.”

Gemma laughs. “My thoughts exactly. But we’re going out to eat right now, so he can tell me all about his day. And that parrot.”

The two of them talk for a bit, Gemma smiling a little too brightly; Harry calls that the _Operation: Get All Girls_ smile, the one she ramps up every time she sees anyone she’s even remotely interested in.

Louis, meanwhile, has sauntered back over to Harry, leaning on the desk. “Don’t look now, but I’m pretty sure there’s a ghost behind you,” he says, his voice low. Liam lets out a quiet giggle and Louis rolls his eyes.

Harry nods. “Wanted to get out of the house, apparently. Tired of being a cursed, pouting nuisance.”

“Hey,” Liam whines.

“I keep hearing that these days, wanting to get out of the house.” Louis jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “Your darling sister as well. She and I had a contest to roll down a hill, see who could get to the bottom faster.”

“And?”

“I won the first time because I turned into mist and appeared at the bottom. Then we instituted a no powers rule.” He smirks. “I still won.”

“I’m not surprised.”

Louis taps the surface of the desk. “Anyway, you ready? Gemma wants to go to that one little café you like.”

“Just need my coat.” Harry gets up and gathers his things. When he turns away from the desk, Louis is waiting with his coat, holding it out for him. Harry lets him help it on while Priya laughs at something Gemma’s just said.

“Ready, Liam?” Louis asks quietly.

“Yep.”

Louis doesn’t take Harry’s hand, but he walks beside him as they collect Gemma. When they leave, Gemma has this look on her face that Harry can just tell _Operation: Get All Girls_ was a success. He’d bet money that Gemma got her number.  

Outside it’s drizzling and Harry holds out a hand to catch it as they huddle together under the awning overhead. Louis opens the umbrella, handing it to Gemma. “Why don’t the two of you get a table?” Louis asks, and for a second, Harry thinks he’s talking to him and Gemma, until Liam flickers into sight beside them.

“Yeah, come on,” Gemma says, twining her arm with Liam’s. “Let’s talk about this ghost business of yours.”

Liam looks alarmed, but allows himself to be led away, the two of them strolling down the sidewalk beneath the umbrella.

Louis looks at Harry. “How about it?” he asks, holding out his own arm. “Figured we could talk for a bit.”

Harry winds his arm through Louis’. Like he’d say no.

They step out from beneath the awning and Louis stops again just as quickly as though he’s forgotten something. Harry looks at him. He’s got his head tipped back, eyes closed, a small smile on his face as rain falls softly on his skin. A drop catches him in the eye, the pearl of water clinging to his eyelashes.

Louis opens his eyes, sliding a look at Harry. He reaches out, tracing the shape of one of Harry’s curls. “And I serve the fairy queen, to dew her orbs upon the green.”

It’s looking like the undead can read his mind these days. Okay. Still not the weirdest thing to happen to him lately. “Hi,” Harry says. “I never said that, did I? Hi.”

Louis shakes his head, his smile widening, softening to a glow in all the gray around them. “Hello, darling.” Slowly, they start walking again, footsteps falling in time. “How are you?”

“Oh, you know.” Harry waves a hand noncommittally. “Confused. In love.” 

“Those are the same, I think.”

Harry manages a smile at that, at least. “What about you?”

“Me? Well, Gemma and I had a nice morning. Saw the shops. Did some talking. She gave me a reading.”

“Did she charge you?”

Louis nods. “One cigarette and a coffee.”

“Oh, she gave you a discount.”

“Mm-hm. She had some very illuminating things to say.” Harry isn’t sure he likes the sound of that at all, but he lets Louis go on. Louis rubs his thumb over the indent where Harry’s hand becomes wrist as they start walking again. “Not to be all cliché Hollywood on you, but you remember when we met?”

“The Halloween carnival. You were dressed as a vampire.”

Louis’ lips curve up. “Every day I’m dressed like a vampire. But that was almost a year ago, now.” He wrinkles his nose. “Isn’t it odd? It’s only been one single year. It feels like an age, even for me.” He sighs. “Ah, Halloween. You know the origins of Halloween, right?”

“Samhain.”

“Yeah. People would dress up and wander about in masks to ward off evil spirits that might travel between worlds when the veil of reality is thinnest. It was always my favorite holiday. It was a little different during my time— _Alholowmesse_ , on the second of November—but it had a lot of the same principles.” He looks up at the sky, the soft drizzle slowly soaking into their hair and clothes. “It seems fitting, then, that you love Halloween so much. That the thrill is in the set-up of it, the celebration.”

“When I’m not cursed, anyway. Why do you say so?”

“Aren’t you doing the same thing? Dressing up your house, your daily life, in a mask. Surrounding yourself with monsters who masquerade as normal, preparing yourself for when the evil spirits come.” Louis’ eyes fairly pierce him to the core. “I know what it is you’re afraid of, Harry.”

A nervous laugh stutters out of him, but his heart is beating hard all over again. “What are you on about?”

“I know why you’re scared of haunted houses. What could be scarier than an empty home? A place that was once a heart, with no family to fill it?” His fingers are pleasantly warm amid the October chill—and the sudden cold descending over Harry. “I understand, you know. I’ve been alone far longer than you have. I know what it’s like to want a proper family.”

There are things people don’t tell, secrets that have existed for so long they become part of a person. “You…”

“Know all about it, yes.” His mouth twists in a smile. “Gemma, remember?”

“You two,” Harry grumbles. He drags his gaze away from Louis.

“I know it really wasn’t her secret to part with, but she wanted to help and I did ask.” Louis’ voice is soft when he says, “It’s not going to bring them back, you know. All the people who’ve left you. They made their choice and dwelling on it…all it’s ever going to do is make you unhappy, Harry. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“It’s not going to change this, either. It’s going to happen, whether we like it or not.” His fingers tighten ever so slightly and Harry takes a breath, forcing himself to look back at him. “You may be so powerful you can stop time, but even you can’t hold it that way forever.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry says, “I just want to…fix it, a bit.”

Louis smiles. “What if this is something you can’t fix?”

Gemma asked him the same question the night before. Their words are haunting him like all the ghosts in their lives. He doesn’t answer, because he refuses to entertain that possibility. “Can I ask _you_ something?”

Louis nods.

“Why are you so against it? I mean, besides the obvious.”

After all, as Harry believes, there’s a reason for everything. And Louis wouldn’t be so ardently against it unless there was something terrible that had happened in the past. Whether or not they want it to, their pasts shape them in inescapable ways—supernatural or otherwise.  

“I do owe you that,” Louis says, nodding. “And I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. But it’s…complicated. And the things you don’t want to remember are always the hardest to talk about. I mean, obviously, right?”

Harry laughs. “Louis, you don’t _owe_ me anything. And you don’t have to tell me now, if it’s that important. You can wait until you’re ready. I was just curious as to whether there was a specific reason.”

“No, it’s okay. I _want_ to tell you. I want you to understand where I’m coming from. There’s definitely a specific reason.” He takes a deep breath. “I lived here a long time ago. Back in the 1800s. It wasn’t that long ago to me, but you know how it is. Anyway, I uh. I was in a pretty bad place, then. There were a lot of things going on in my life that I’m not proud of. And I…turned a couple of people.”

“Turned them,” Harry repeats slowly. “As in…?”

“Yeah. Into vampires.” 

“I see.”

“You have to understand, at the time, that whole thing—the gothic, the occult, the idea of eternal life—it was all very popular. Everyone was eating up penny dreadfuls and Poe. Parties where séances were conducted were very popular in the Victorian Era; we could’ve made a killing if we knew Liam back then. But the point is, they—they _wanted_ it. Or they thought they did, anyway. It was a very romantic notion to them.”

“Who were they?”

“A couple of orphans I had taken in. Ever since I met Niall, I was always taking in people who needed help. Lost kids who just needed a place to stay, a helping hand. And I had the money, the resources, to do it.”

“So you were kind of like Batman.”

Louis smiles. “A little. Only, they didn’t get to be superheroes with me.”

“So you have…vampire kids?”

Louis nods. “I…suppose you could put it that way, yeah. They weren’t children, though. I would never turn a child. They were both of age when I asked them if they wanted to be like me. I saw them more like siblings.” He sighs. “I _did_ , anyway. They’re gone now.”

“What happened?”

“I turned them, like they asked. And things were fine for a while. We had a home, a family, with the Court. We were rich and young and beautiful and everything we could have possibly wanted, we got. Everything we could dream of was ours.” Louis shakes his head. “But…that doesn’t _stay_. You know? It became so boring. There was no point to it after a time. So we started doing stupid things. Chasing thrills, trying to find something to make us feel alive. That worked, for a while. But nothing ever makes the ache go away. The loneliness. Even knowing there are others like you didn’t help, not then.”

Harry squeezes Louis’ fingers reassuringly; already he knows where this is going. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know. But they didn’t know what they were getting into, either. They thought they did, and I tried to explain—how it was going to be like that, forever, but all they heard was that last bit.” Louis looks at Harry. “People think they want forever, but they don’t really know what it means. They don’t know how much they need change to survive, to feel like anything they do matters.”

“You _can_ change, though. You have.”

“Yeah, because I’ve been through loads. I’ve managed to hold on all this time. But they were young. James couldn’t see a way out of it, a way through it. So he decided to end it. The worst part was him apologizing to me. Like he had anything to be sorry for.”

“James?”

Louis nods. “And Annabelle.” 

“What happened to her?”

“Vampire hunters. She was careless. She fought, though. She wanted to live.” Louis shakes back his damp hair from where it’s sticking to his forehead. “The thing they don’t tell you about lending your power out—you can feel it when they go. Like what Gemma said about whoever cursed us being able to feel it. Except I imagine mine was worse.”

“What’s it feel like?”

“Like somebody is sawing off your arm without anything to numb the pain. Like they’re going through you and scooping out all the good things in your life and leaving behind everything that’s terrible. And after, you’re just…hollow.”

“What happened after?”

“After? Oh. I left. Didn’t want to be here anymore. Went to Wales.”

“Scotland, I thought.”

Louis waves a hand. “Same thing. Anyway, after that I promised myself I’d never do something so careless like that again. I don’t want to be responsible for what happens afterward. Life and death, it’s not a game.” He takes a deep breath. “So that’s why I don’t think it’s worth looking into. I’ve seen it happen, Harry. I’ve watched them die—once to become vampires, and then again, for the last time. And I couldn’t save them that time.”

There’s something about his tone, the way he’s wincing at his own words that has Harry feeling his guilt and anxiety like it’s his own. He squeezes Louis’ hand again, doing a tiny calming spell. His magic is still returning, but he can do this for him.

“Thank you,” Louis says suddenly, leveling Harry with an even gaze. The tension in him relaxes somewhat. “For hearing me out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, I completely understand why you didn’t. I’m the one who should be apologizing. I should’ve known there was a reason for you to shoot me down like that.” Harry laughs, shaking his head. “I feel like such an _arse_ now.”

“You’re not, trust me. If anyone is, it’s me. On that note, I, er, wanted to apologize for last night. That is definitely not the way I wanted to have that discussion.”

“Me too, Louis, I was just—”

“Hang on, let me finish. You’re right. About me being a hypocrite. And I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m the same as you, really. We’re two sides of the same coin. I get so scared sometimes when I think about losing you, but that fear holds us back. It limits us. Sometimes, it gets out of hand before we can stop it, like last night.”

“I’m sorry, too. For blowing up. For not listening when you said you didn’t want to talk about it. I should’ve known right then something was wrong.”

Louis brings Harry’s hand up to his mouth, kissing the back of it. “No more apologies. One bad day isn’t the end of the world, you know.”

Harry laughs weakly. “How about we blame this whole thing on the after-effects of the curse?”

“Deal.”

Harry takes a deep breath now, letting it out. Louis has been unfailingly, unflinchingly honest with him, even when it hurts, and now it’s Harry’s turn. _We have to stop being so scared all the time_ , he thinks. _But it’s hard when we’re living with monsters._

“There’s something else, though. Something I need to tell you. Something I should have said last night.”

“Okay.” Louis says it lightly enough, but his voice still sounds a little guarded. “What is it?”

“The Council. Why they wanted to talk to me. It was actually about you.”

Louis sounds genuinely surprised when he says, “Me?” He laughs, eyebrows raised. “What _about_ me?”

“They kept asking about you. About our relationship, and if I'd given you my blood. I didn’t admit to anything, but I could tell they knew something. And of course, they admitted to spying on me, so how could they not know?”

“That _is_ an interesting turn of events, isn’t it,” Louis says quietly. “Why didn’t you say something before? And that’s not me passing judgment, I’m just curious.”

“I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want you to think it was your fault, that you’re putting me in danger or some nonsense like that. Our lives are danger; it’s time to just accept that and move on.”

“So what’d you say?”

“Well, to be totally honest, the entire time they were talking to me I just kept thinking, _what would Louis do here?_ ”

Louis’ eyes widen, his cheeks flushing a little with the pleasant surprise. “And?”

“I sassed them within an inch of what was safe and teleported away.”

Louis laughs out loud. “Now _that’s_ my nature-spouse.”

“And then I started thinking about it, about the blood drinking and it gave me the idea. I mean, I’ve thought about it before, obviously. But this was when I really started looking into it.” Harry shakes his head. “But I can’t find anything about it. I was on the verge of giving up, actually, when I thought I’d ask.”

“Hm. Well, thank you for telling me. It seems we’re even now. I wonder…if this and the curse are connected somehow. It would be too much of a coincidence, I think, for these things to happen in such a short amount of time.” Louis shakes his head. “I just don’t get it. What is going on here?”

“No idea. But I think you’re right. There’s no way it’s a coincidence.”

“Did we do something? I mean…” Louis pauses, looking up as they cross the street to where Gemma and Liam are waiting outside the café. Harry looks at him, waiting for the rest of his sentence, but he’s looking further down the street, where three crows are sitting on the hood of a car.

“What is it?”

Louis opens his mouth but Gemma speaks first. “Finally,” she says. “Did you two take a detour to shag in some bushes?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “As if it would only take two minutes. You can’t rush art, Gemma.”

This time, it’s Liam who makes a face. “I don’t really want to hear about this.”

“So what else is new?”

Louis takes Harry’s hand, squeezing. Harry squeezes back, smiling. It feels like a weight has been lifted off of him, and he feels miles away from where he was just that morning, lightyears away from the day before. He feels like they’re going to figure out what’s going on, and they’re going to overcome it. Like anything is possible, with just a little bit of magic.

“So Gemma wants to do a healing ritual tonight,” Liam says. “She was telling me right now—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll talk about it inside,” Gemma says, holding the door open for them. “C’mon, I’m starved.”

They have no choice but to follow her inside.

* * *

Niall is still at work when they get back, so Louis texts him and tells him the plan. He responds with several middle finger emojis, which Louis can only really take as a yes.

Definitely up to something the very moment they return, Harry, Gemma, and Liam are standing in congress in the kitchen, their heads bent together. Harry’s cheeks are pinker than they’ve been in days and his eyes are glimmering with a mischievous sparkle that immediately makes Louis suspicious.

“Hey,” he calls from the sitting room. “What are you three up to?”

“We’re going into the cellar,” Gemma says. “Come with us and find out!”

“In a minute,” he says, waving at them to go. “I’ve got to, uh, do something first.”

The three of them scurry out the back door, all secret giggles and smiles, while Louis rolls up his sleeves. He had an idea earlier and he figures the sooner he can see about executing it, the better. He opens his mouth to scent at the air, pinpointing exactly what he’s looking for within a matter of seconds.

He goes into the bedroom he shares with Harry and bends down, getting on his hands and knees to look under the bed. Glitter still lingers in some places, despite Harry’s best efforts at vanishing it the night before.

Sure enough, a pair of luminescent yellow eyes peer at him from the darkness.

Just the person—or cat, rather—he was hoping to see.

“Hiya Fee,” he says.

Felix lets out a quiet meow.

“Well. That was rude.”

He just blinks. He raises one insolent paw and begins licking it, bored to the core. Despite their mutual affection for Harry, they’ve never really gotten on. It’s sort of an unspoken agreement between the two of them, that they’ll generally avoid each other as much as they can.

Louis brushes it off. As much as he doesn’t want it, he needs the furball’s help. “So, I have a question for you. A proposition.”

Felix stops mid-lick, his paw raised in the air. He waits.

Louis quickly tells him his idea, his plan. Felix’s eyes widen as he puts the paw down, before narrowing all over again. With a look of pure disdain, Felix moves slightly closer to Louis, inching along the wood floor.

“So?” Louis asks. “What do you think?”

He huffs, meowing low in his throat.

“Yeah, well, that’s your opinion. I really meant will it work?”

Another meow.

“You gonna be an arse about this, or are you going to get over yourself?”

A soft growl this time.

“Fine. Whatever. I don’t need your help to pull it off.” Louis grins, reaching forward to poke Felix’s tail. He swipes at his hand with a paw, but his claws aren’t out. “Admit it, you’re jealous. You’re jealous of the plan and that you didn’t think of it first. Also, I know you secretly like me. If you didn’t, you would have just scratched me all to hell.”

Felix hisses this time.

“Uh-huh,” Louis says, retreating. “I’ve figured you out, mate. I’ve got it all sorted. You can’t fool me, you big fluffy ball of love.”

Felix growls again, but Louis barely hears over it the sound of his own laughter as he gets back up. He returns to the sitting room, fetching his coat and Harry’s scarf where it’s hanging beside the front door. Surely they’ll be busy enough with whatever suspicious witch-and-ghosty things that they won’t notice if he pops out for just a moment. Their household, after all, could do with a little more light and, as it happens, Harry isn’t the only one who can do something magical and unexpected.

When Louis arrives at the vet, Priya is on the phone with someone, laughing. When she sees him, she frowns a little, but hangs up quickly. “Hi. Forget something?”

“Sort of. I was thinking you could give me a hand with something. It’s a surprise, for Harry.”

She smiles, sticking her pen into her long, dark braid. “I’m listening.”

* * *

When Louis returns to the house, a rather large box in tow, it’s to the sight of the front door wide open. He has a split-second of dizzying, cold fear until he sees Gemma, laughing, a box floating alongside her at the side of the house. Slowly, the quick burst of panic fades, and he carefully shifts his own box in his arms, having no magic of his own to hover it through the air like _some_ people.

Louis steps into the house to a scene of utter mayhem. There are boxes everywhere: piled on the sofa, stacked beside the armchair. He stops right inside the door, staring.

“What is all this?” he asks.

Liam slithers out of the wall nearest him, waving to him as he solidifies. “There’s a couple boxes left,” he calls. “I’m going to get them!”

Harry comes out of the kitchen. He’s wearing a black scarf patterned with white bats in his hair. “Thanks, Liam!” To Louis, he says, “Hey, where’d you sneak off to?”

“I’ll trade you an answer for an answer.”

“Fine.” Harry spreads his arms wide. “ _This_ happens to be my life’s achievement, Lewis.”

Louis opens the one nearest him, pulling out a string of fake cobwebs. “Um. Do I even want to know?”

“You have your treasure trove, I have mine.” Harry grins, rubbing his hands together like some kind of comic book villain. “The curse made me forget, which is a travesty, but I’m myself again now and that means we have a _lot_ of work to do. We’re already so behind in schedule.”

“Oh, no,” Louis says, laughing, understanding immediately.

“Oh, yes! So you’d better be ready to help out. Now,” he says, hopping closer, peering curiously at the box in Louis’ hands. “What’s in there?”

As if in answer, there’s a soft, high-pitched _mew_.

Harry’s eyes, like the Grinch’s heart on Christmas Day, seem to grow about three sizes larger than normal. “Louis…”

Louis sets the box down and opens it gently. Inside is one large white cat, her collar reading ‘Duchess’, and five smaller ones, all of them peering up curiously at their new surroundings.

“I’ve got all their things in the car, I stopped just now.” Gently, Louis pulls one out. It’s Verbena, one of the boys of the bunch. “Ta-da,” he says, holding the kitten up, out, to Harry.

Harry takes Verbena, a look of awe lighting his face. “How did you—what—”

“I had this idea when we stopped by earlier. Figured we could adopt them, since they’ve been there so long and Priya said the Humane Society was getting ready to take them, so I offered to instead.” He shrugs, smiling. “And here we are.”

“You—” Harry shakes his head, cradling Verbena against his chest. “I—”

“I know I said it earlier, but I just really wanted you to know that I’m sorry and that I love you loads. So much so that I am willing to cause Niall extreme discomfort if he really is allergic to cats like he said.”

Harry flashes him a knowing look. “You would’ve been willing anyway.”

“True. But this is where you should be flattered. I clearly love your happiness more than his sinuses.”

“I’m so thrilled. How lucky I am.” Harry rolls his eyes. “But this is brilliant, Lou! I was starting to get worried, wondering what would happen to them.”

“Well, they’re yours now. Ours,” he corrects. “Our little family.”

Harry’s throat aches a little at that and he has to look away for a moment. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Every time we argue, am I going to get a new pet?”

“Maybe. We should have a nice menagerie in about fifty years or so.”

“You think we’ll argue that much?”

“Maybe. Some of them might just be for fun.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Last night wasn’t fun. Why would I ever want to repeat that?”

“There are perks, you know. Like the angry sex. And then the really good makeup sex.”

Harry lets his eyes sweep down Louis as he shrugs out of his coat and Harry’s scarf, his jeans sitting low on his hips, his shirt rucked up a little over his stomach. His hair is tousled a bit and he’s got that look in his eye, that certain twist to his smile. Never let it be said Harry doesn’t have kinks; compassion and caring go a _long_ way in his esteem.

“You know, you’re actually convincing me.”

“See? A good lay, and a new…cow every so often. Or a giraffe. You get to choose.”

“An entire cow _or_ giraffe? And they say romance is dead.” Harry sets Verbena down on the rug gently, reaching in to bring out everyone else. Duchess shoots Louis a suspicious glance when he pulls her out, but she _mrrows_ happily when Harry pets her, the bell on her collar jingling.

“And how’s Fee feel about all this?” he asks quietly, looking up at Louis. “I imagine you didn’t tell him.”

“Oh, I did. We came to an understanding just now before I left.”

Harry stands up. There’s something wrong about everything Louis has just said. “Wait. You did?”

“Yep. I told him what my plan was, and he said—” Louis stops. “Well, he said a lot of things that were particularly unkind. And in Spanish. Did you know your cat can speak Spanish?”

“But…” Why isn’t that right? Harry frowns.

“Anyway, even if we hadn’t talked it over, I still would’ve gotten them, I just wanted to run it by him first so he wasn’t shocked at the new flatmates.”

It occurs to Harry all at once and his frown deepens. “Hang on. Lou, you said you couldn’t speak to cats. Or, you couldn’t understand them anyway.”

“I—what?” Louis blinks. “I…well, I can.” He looks down at the cat nearest him, Clio. “Hey, hi.” He waves and she mews back at him. His eyes widen. “Holy shit, I can! I didn’t even notice, honestly. Suddenly I just heard Felix’s voice in my head.”

“When?”

“Oh, I dunno, a few weeks ago? We’ve chatted once or twice since then. Though, to be quite honest, it’s clear he doesn’t exactly like me so he’s not the most forthcoming bloke.” Louis shifts, kicking off his sneakers. “It’s probably you. Right? Your magic, I mean. I can go out during the day, I can see auras, and now I can hear these cats. It’s got to be the magic in your blood. In our blood.”

“Yes, it’s got to be!” Harry says, swallowing a little thickly with the realization that if he _does_ drink Louis’ blood and he does die, like Louis suspects, he’ll never be able to do this for him again. If he loses his magic, Louis won’t ever be able to go out in the sunlight, whether real or illusory. He won’t be able to keep making Niall his wolfsbane potions, he won’t be able to calm Liam from his nightmares, and there’s a very real chance that, without magic, he might very well never see Zayn ever again for the rest of his life. He’ll be an outcast from his family, though he’s sure they’d never treat him that way, as well as an outcast from the society he’s spent so long dreaming of, a place he’s had to prove he deserves to be. He’s _still_ trying to prove it to the Council.

A life without magic. He had never really considered what that meant, and how many people it would affect, until this moment.

Suddenly he understands what Liam meant earlier, what Louis is so afraid of. _What am I willing to give up,_ he thinks, _to be with him?_

Maybe Louis is right. Maybe Gemma is, too. Maybe there are just some things he shouldn’t know, things he can’t fix. Maybe it’s time to adjust and move on. Learn to live and love within the confines of time.

Harry clears his throat again. He doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He wants to play with kittens and decorate for the holiday. He wraps it up in paper, tying it off with a bow, and shoves the parcel into a cabinet somewhere deep in the Room of Requirement that is his mind.

“I’m going to go out and grab their things,” he says. “Backseat?”

Louis nods. At that moment, Gemma and Liam both return, carrying two more boxes. “Here’s the last of them,” Gemma says, panting a little with the exertion. “I think I’ve thrown out my back, so thanks a lot for—” She stops, looking at all the cats milling about in the sitting room, tentatively exploring their new home. “Uh. Did Harry just pull all of those out of a top hat?”

“Wrong animal,” Louis says with a grin.

“Ooh, rabbits. Add rabbits to the list,” Harry calls as he zooms out the door.

“List? What _list_?” Liam says, frowning at the two of them, but Louis just laughs and shakes his head.

They spend the rest of the afternoon alternating between playing with cats and putting up Harry’s many, _many_ Halloween decorations. It’s lucky, that their house is so big; there’s a place for everything in every dark corner to every spooky eave. Louis had no idea such a treasure trove had been concealed in Harry’s workshop. He’d never even known Harry’d had that much stuff when they moved in together. Pocket dimensions—he’s got them everywhere, rips in reality where he squirrels things away until he needs them.

Harry’s magic is only about halfway back to him, though marginally stronger and more sure than it was while they were cursed; he hasn’t broken a single thing all day and his aura is a dark gold that seems almost orange when Louis looks at it. Even if his magic _was_ at its full capacity, though, Louis has a feeling they’d still need Gemma, with the amount of work they have ahead of themselves and he’s right, when she announces that she’s going to imbue the decorations with magic.

“Remember what I said about wards? Well, we’re going to put them here.”

“Here?” Louis gestures. “In the…skeletons and stuff?”

“Well, you’re going to put some of it outside, right? So if anyone you don’t want tries to get too close, it’ll let Harry know. He’ll feel it, hear some ringing. Like a witchy alarm. They’ll help protect you.”

Louis holds up his hands. “Okay, I trust you.”

Gemma beams. Their future holidays and family get-togethers are going to be a lot of fun, he can just tell.

The house comes alive in shades of black and orange. Fake globs of blood stick to the mirror over the mantel, while spooky candelabras filled with black, half-melted candles sit below, framing their photos, and fake spiderwebs cover the curtains, hanging down from the eaves. Liam has a particularly good time throwing plastic spiders into them from afar, Louis joining him, and they make a game of it: sitting further and further away on the floor, trying to reach the cobwebs. It’s the happiest and brightest Louis has seen Liam and Harry in a while and his heart does this funny tumbling thing in his chest.

Owls with glaring faces stare down from bookshelves and a fake painting on the wall shows a Gothic cameo of a woman that, when viewed at the right angle, suddenly becomes a skeleton bride, mouth wide in a hideous scream. A black tablecloth appears on their dining room table, the center glimmering with real pewter goblets set with red stones, the silverware set with wide bloodshot eyes, every handle flanked by bat wings. Purple, green, and orange lights are hung in the entryway, a string of plastic skulls intertwined with them. Signs and banners emblazoned with the words BOO! and HAPPY HALLOWEEN are placed wherever a wall seems too bare, Gemma making the letters come to life with magic, embedding the letters with runes of protection. They wind orange tinsel around the banister of their stairs, chasing the holiday thrills upstairs, where Harry proudly places a full-moon cutout on the wall beside Niall’s door.

Jars of orange glitter water sit in the windowsills beside vases of black and orange roses; they look like silk, but they feel as soft as the real thing and, unless Louis’ head is playing tricks on him, even smell like the real thing, too.

“Here,” Harrys says, pulling a couple of dark shapes out of a box. “Put these somewhere, will you?”

They’re two stuffed, fake crows—or maybe ravens, Louis can’t tell what the creators were going for. He flashes them a dirty look when Harry’s back is turned, deciding to put them in the kitchen, a room he rarely frequents so he won’t have to look at their beady, black button eyes.

* * *

“I quit,” Liam says hours later. He flops down on the sofa, Louis beside him. Gemma has gone into the city, promising to return with both food and some supplies for their spell that night. They both look worn out, but Harry hovers over to them, floating in the air with his hands on his hips like he’s Peter Pan.

“You can’t quit! We haven’t even started on the outside yet!”

“We have three more _weeks_ ,” Liam groans, an arm flopped over his face. He’s been solid all day, more present. Harry can’t see through him anymore unless he wants them to. “There’s plenty of time.”

Harry’s eyes widen. “ _Liam_ ,” he gasps. “I am shocked at you. This month is for decorating and enjoying, not cramming it all in the night before. It’s not just for us to enjoy, it’s for all of Gloomingshire!”

Liam waves a dismissive hand at Harry. “Who cares about them?”

“Me,” Harry says. He kicks back in the air, his arms folded beneath his head as he floats languidly. “I’ve always wanted to be the village witch, it’s a lifetime achievement, even if they’re not supposed to actually know about me. I wonder which of the children will be brave enough to come to the front door to ask for sweeties. I wonder who will be the first to get over themselves and come asking me for a love spell or something foolish like that.”

“Foolish?” Liam asks with a little frown.

“I don’t do love spells.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Louis says with a ridiculous wink, and Harry blows him a kiss, a bright shock of pink glitter that bursts when it touches his cheek.

“Just you, then? Would’ve thought love spells were a specialty of yours, what with all the pink and the glitter.” Liam brushes some off his shoulder where it scattered.

“What’s wrong with my glitter?” Without waiting for an answer, Harry says, “But it’s not just me. Witches are, as a whole, forbidden from performing love spells. Of course, that doesn’t stop them—there’s a whole black market out there for spells like that, not that I would expect anybody in town to know about them.”

 “Why? I mean, why are they forbidden?”

“Because.” Harry blinks, sitting up in mid-air. “It directly goes against a person’s free will. There are _rules_ , Liam. Tenets laid down by the first witches, tenets that can’t be broken.” Harry wrinkles his nose. “Well, they can be, but they shouldn’t be.”

“What are they?”

Sometimes Harry forgets that Liam missed that entire portion of their lives together, and they _did_ sort of give him the five-minute version in the wake of realizing he’s a _ghost_ and all. He doesn’t mind sharing it with him now; he’s reached a place where he’s comfortable with it, where he wants to share this part of his life with him, with all of them, no matter what the Council says. It’s not like he’s taking out an advert to proclaim to the whole United Kingdom. Just them. Surely that can’t be forbidden, too. They really ought to give out a newsletter every year or so.

“There’s the most basic ones.” He ticks off on his fingers. “Don’t show your powers off to people who don’t believe or understand. Don’t cast on anyone without their consent, unless in extreme cases, like at the pizza parlor. Be careful of the energy you put out in the universe, because it will always find a way back to you. That’s the thing about love spells. They muck with consent. Besides, you can’t _make_ somebody love you, even with magic. In the end, it would never work. The witches who sell those charms – warlocks – they count on that. It’s all a scam to take your money and then disappear when you come looking, complaining that it hasn’t worked.”

“I thought warlocks were boy witches.”

Harry shakes his head. “Common misconception. Witch is a term that isn’t inherently gendered. Society did that. No, the real meaning of warlock goes back to the days of Old English. _Wærloga_. It means—”

“Oath-breaker,” Louis says.

Liam turns to look at him, an expression of polite interest on his face. “How many languages _do_ you know?”

“That are still in use?”

“Both. Either.”

Louis thinks for a moment. “Eleven that immediately come to mind. I’m sure there are more. Of course all the Englishes and Frenches are my best. Latin, too. Greek, way back when.”

“Ancient or modern?”

Louis cocks an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“I think…I’m tired,” Liam says, leaning back over the arm of the sofa.

“Can you even _be_ tired?” Louis asks, sliding to the floor to visit the cats, who have mostly congregated in the soft bed he bought them beneath the coffee table.

Liam glares at him, his eyes narrowed. “Can you?”

Harry tilts his head, no longer listening to them. Now that there’s no curse affecting him, he has his senses back and properly aligned; somebody’s coming up the path.

Just then, the front door opens. It’s Niall, his keys jangling impatiently, a scowl on his face. He slams it shut; Harry, distracted, doesn’t silence it with magic in time and the sound echoes throughout the whole house. The cats wake with a start, a couple of them mewling in surprise. Duchess scowls, eyes narrowed, at the source of the sound.

His aura is dark, the energy he’s bringing in sickly, swirling about him like the remnants of the curse. Harry edges back away from him. He thought doing some of the decorating would help, that their own energies, creative and happy, would simply replace the bad, but it’s not looking that easy. At least he doesn’t feel sick anymore. At least Gemma will be back soon.

Niall sniffs as he tosses his keys in the bowl by the door. He looks up. A few fake bats swing in circles overhead from hooks in the ceiling, their eyes glowing red, just narrowly missing the mended chandelier. “Huh.  Why does it smell like we’ve been invaded by cats?”

“Because we have,” Louis crows, holding up Lilac. His eyes are sleepy slits, barely open. “Happy Halloween, Niall!”

Niall stares at the cats, gaze flicking down to the others, now wriggling around in their bed on the floor. His face is carefully blank for a long moment before his shoulders slump a little.  “You know,” he says, “I’m not even mad.”

He crosses the room, flopping down beside Louis. “Here,” he says to Duchess, offering her a hand to sniff. When she’s given her approval, however lukewarm it might be, he promptly lays down on the floor and lets the squealing cats crawl all over him. “This is exactly what I needed after the day I had,” he says, letting out a heavy sigh. Harry thinks he sounds a little teary, too, and he smiles, slowly lowering himself down to join them on the floor.

“So the house looks really nice,” Niall manages, one of the cats standing on his face. He just takes it, laying there. “You lads did a top job today. Keep it up, we might be done with this decoration thing by the week’s end.”

“ _We_ meaning me, Liam, and Harry.”

Niall frowns again, but he doesn’t open his eyes. “Listen, I’d be there if I could, but—”

“Yeah, yeah. Slave to the machine, the usual.” Louis grins, rolling his eyes.

“Not everybody has the wealth of a _thousand years_ , Louis. You insensitive prick.”

Something trickles in along the edges of Harry’s mind and he leans forward, hands on his knees. “What if you didn’t have to be there?”

Niall waits until Petal moves to his chest before he lifts his head. “What?”

“What if you didn’t have to work there?”

“Meaning?”

“I dunno. I just keep thinking, what if you opened your own business?”

“Oh, here we go again.” Niall flops back down. “This is like Lou suggesting we take a holiday. I already told you, it’s impossible. Not only do I not have the overhead, but did you forget I have that whole _time of the month_ thing? It’d be mad to try and balance that with running my own place.”

“Hey, the wolfsbane can help with that.”

“Plus I’d have to hire people!” Niall says, like Harry didn’t even speak. “And what would it even be, anyway?”

“Oh, I dunno. A café, maybe.” Harry shrugs, even as his pulse quickens. “A bakery!”

Louis nods, considering. “Y’know, that’s not such a terrible idea.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees. “It could totally work.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the worst. D’you know how hard it is to open a new business right now in this economy? _And_ a restaurant? You’re outta your mind.”

“Hang on, Niall, give him a chance,” Louis says. “Think about it: You have the qualifications and your food—sorry, I’ll have to assume here since I’ve never actually had it—is actually really good. You wouldn’t have to hire more than one or two people, because I’m sure Harry and Liam could help you. Right, Haz?”

Harry nods excitedly. “I love bakeries. I worked in one when I was younger.”

“I wouldn’t mind. Sounds fun.”

“See? So it’s really not impossible.”

“Uh, you’re forgetting the money part. How am I going to pay for all the supplies we’d need, for the shop space? I can’t even get the bills in on time.”

“You’re right,” Louis drawls, rolling his eyes, “what an impossibility, when your best friend has, as you so aptly put, the wealth of a thousand years just sitting in a storage shed somewhere.” He can’t cover up the jealousy in his voice; _he_ wants a pocket dimension.

Niall sits up a little, his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. Ask and it’s yours. It’s not like I’m doing anything with it.” Louis shrugs.

Niall stares at him. When Louis doesn’t laugh, however, Niall’s eyes widen. He sits up fully, watching Louis’ face. “Holy shit. You’re actually serious.”

“And why shouldn’t I be? If it gets you to stop complaining and makes you happy, why the hell not?”

Niall shakes his head. “No. No way.”

“Why not?” Harry asks.

“Listen, I don’t want to owe you more than I already do.”

Louis laughs. “ _Owe_ me? What’re you on about?”

“Are you joking? My whole life as a werewolf has been spent owing you. You took me in when I needed a place to stay—”

“—after I tried to kill you, if you’ll recall—”

“—and ever since then, we’ve basically been together. It’s always been you doing things for me, you protecting me, paying for me. And it’s like…it’s a pub tab I can’t close because it’s just too much. I don’t want to add any more to it.”

“Niall, it’s not like I’m going to come _collect_ someday,” Louis says slowly. “You’re my best mate. Of course I’m gonna take care of you.” He looks around the room. “I’m going to take care of all of you. It’s my _job_.”

“Still,” Niall says. He gently displaces a cat, standing up and brushing hair from his legs. “I just don’t feel comfortable with borrowing that much money.”

“I just told you, you twit, you’re not borrowing it. I’m _giving_ it to you. Consider it a late birthday present. An early Christmas one, if you will. Hell, I’ll give it to you for _my_ birthday. Just take it and do something a little more enjoyable with your life, will you?”

Niall grimaces. “I’ll think about it. How’s ’at?”

“Acceptable.”

“Fine.” As he’s kicking off his shoes, he huffs, “Next you’ll be suggesting Liam goes home to visit his family or something.”

“But I’m dead,” Liam says with a small frown. “That would be a terrible idea.”

 “Exactly,” Niall says grimly, nodding. “Dead, and you’re _still_ the most sensible person here. I’m taking a shower.” He lifts one hand in a bare semblance of a wave, retreating up the stairs two at a time. He takes the negativity with him, the warmth of the sitting room returning once he’s gone.

They’re silent for a moment. Duchess meows up at Louis from beneath the coffee table.

“You said it, Cat Mum,” he says, eyebrows raised. “What an arsehole. I was just taking the piss at the beginning there.”

“He’s trying his best,” Liam says. “But…”

“I really hope he changes his mind, because I…I sort of don’t like him when he’s working at that place,” Harry says.

Louis snorts. “ _Sort of don’t like him_. You can call him a prick, Harry. You _should_ actually, since he called me one first.”

“What, you want me to defend you?”

“Yes? We’re _married_. You’re supposed to.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Okay, then.” He bows exaggeratedly, his curls falling across his face. “I’ll have to protect _His Majesty’s_ honor, like a knight in the stories—”

Louis dumps one of the cats unscrupulously in Harry’s arms. “Here, I changed my mind. Do us all a favor and be quiet for a moment.”

Liam laughs as Harry smiles, standing and offering a perfect curtsy, despite the cat draped in his arms.

No more is said about it, Niall coming down the stairs after his shower and wordlessly going into the kitchen. He bakes a cake for no reason whatsoever, shaking out enough sprinkles on it to feed a small army, and brings everyone a piece of it, despite the fact that Gemma has yet to return with the food she promised them for dinner. For Louis, he brings a cup of tea, and the three of them make room for him on the sofa where they’re playing with the new cat toys Louis bought, the telly on low, a candle shaped like a pentagram burning warmly on its stand.

Louis gets up to feed all the cats, talking to them in the kitchen in a high-pitched voice, a chorus of meows answering. Harry smiles as he flips through an entire scrapbook filled with Halloween recipes, dog-earing his favorites that he wants to try, visions of jack-o’-lantern cupcakes and gummy worms dancing in his head.

Niall shifts beside him, taking a deep breath. He lets it out slowly. “Everything’s gonna be all right,” he says, so quietly that for a second, Harry thinks he’s talking to himself until he turns to face him. “Right?”

Harry pats Niall’s knee. “Right.”

Then there’s the approach of footsteps outside and the front door opens with a snap of cold air, Gemma blazing in, her hands filled with bags. “I’ve got Nandos,” she calls, going immediately to the kitchen, and four pairs of hands raise into the air with excitement, their voices growing loud as they cheer in unison.

Gemma has perfected the art of sitting on surfaces not inherently meant for sitting, so they fall in after her shining example and end up crowded on top of the dining table, knee to knee. Dinner is a noisy affair, filled with bursts of laughter and conversations happening at once, streaming across the table, bouncing around like a shooting star from person to person, their words mingling in the air. It’s such a relief after the quiet cursed days that Harry is calmed by the racket, soothed by every shout and explosion of laughter. All of it waters the seeds of magic, growing once more in his veins.

They fill Niall in on everything that happened that day and he presses a hand to his forehead, acting overly-relieved that Harry told Louis all about the Council. “Phew,” he says, wiping imaginary sweat from his head. “Good. I am not a person made for keeping secrets from Louis.”

“No, just _for_ me, right?”

“Exactly. Which is why I don’t want your dirty vampire hush money.”

“It’s not _hush_ money—” Louis says loudly as Harry laughs.

“Wait,” Gemma says, wiping her mouth with a napkin and holding up her hand. “What money? What are you talking about?”

Harry fills her in on the idea he had of Niall opening his own business. Niall laughs it off stiffly, rolling his eyes, but Gemma seems genuinely intrigued. “Why not?” she asks Niall. “It sounds like a really good idea. And if Louis is willing to front you the money…” She looks at Harry. “You’re always saying how fab his food is.”

Harry nods. “The best, honestly.”

“Seriously. You’d be amazing, Niall.”

“Well. Erm. Thanks, I guess,” he says, looking down at his plate. He still looks as though it’s the last thing he wants to talk about, but his cheeks are an undeniable shade of pink. Harry nudges him with his foot. Niall nudges back, grinning.

Niall takes their mess into the kitchen to wash up, Louis trailing in after him. To Harry’s complete and unending surprise, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to work helping Niall, letting himself be told what to do. Harry stares from the doorway and Gemma stands beside him.

“What?” she asks.

“You’re witnessing an historic moment here, Gem,” he says. “Look at him. Cleaning without being asked? Is this an alternate universe?”

Niall laughs that dumb, cute laugh of his that Harry loves while Louis rolls his eyes. “I _can_ hear you, you know. Niall and I came to an agreement today while texting. He helps me clean, and I help him keep up with the bills now. We decided a compromise was better than a competition.”

“That’s very mature of you.” He puts his arm around Gemma. Despite her being older, he’s taller now. “Look at our boys, so grown up.”

She pretends to wipe a tear away. “Seems like only yesterday they were playing in the garden…”

Louis slides a wicked glance back at Harry over his shoulder. “You’d know all about playing in the garden, wouldn’t you, Hazza?”

“Oh no,” Niall mutters, almost clapping his hands over his ears before he realizes they’re covered in soap suds.

Gemma wrinkles her nose. “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Harry says quickly.

“Do I even want to know?”

“No,” Niall and Harry say at the same time. Louis just smirks as he slowly dries a plate.

They take their time cleaning up, waiting for the full dark of night to descend over them. Eventually, Niall is too antsy to wait anymore; it’s not the full moon, but sometimes the beastblood calls to him and he needs to be outside, among the trees. Harry gets it, honestly; there’s something about autumn that makes him feel more awake, more alive. Louis goes with him, disappearing into mist, vanishing out the front door.

Liam appears beside Harry as he’s helping Gemma gather up supplies for their spell. At first, he doesn’t hear him because he’s trying to jam a handful of crystals into a bag that’s already filled with sage bundles, but then he just _feels_ Liam next to him. He turns and sees him over his shoulder, looking a little apprehensive, like he’s considering turning around and just going back into his room.

“Hey Liam,” he says, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “Want to give us a hand?”

His hesitation is smaller this time. “Sure.” He steps forward, looking at the items they have spread out around them on the sofa. “What is all that?”

As they head outside, Harry chatters, explaining it all to Liam, how alder will give him some protection and how chamomile is good for healing and luck (he almost always keeps a sprig in his shoe, the way his nan taught him), and all about the colors of candles and crystals and oils and what they all symbolize. Liam listens attentively, nodding along, and only halfway through does Harry realize there’s a cat in the pocket of his hoodie, Verbena’s head sticking out over the hem, his eyes wide as he looks around curiously.

“You know, verbena’s used for protection, too.”

The corners of Liam’s mouth lift. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And peace and healing. Looks like he knows what he’s about, huh?”

“Yeah,” Liam says absently, patting Verbena’s head. “He’s good people.”

When they reach the clearing, Louis is waiting for them, sitting sprawled on the ground while Niall sits beside him, trying to catch moths. Gemma spins in a circle, snapping her fingers to make lights appear like the night before. “So is this where you four just come out and spend the night sometimes?”

“Pretty much. When we’re not breaking curses, anyway,” Louis says. He throws a handful of grass in Niall’s direction. “We like to spend time with this kid. Don’t want him to be alone. It’s no fun running around on your own.”

“Yeah, we’re his pack.”

Gemma looks at Harry. “That is the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.”

He helps her unpack, realizing she’s got a case of elderberry beer with her. When he looks at her, she shrugs, blinking innocently. “What? Magic makes me thirsty.”

He takes one from her, handing it off to Louis. He pops the top off with a flick of his finger without needing to be asked, handing it back without a word. Harry takes a sip, feeling more calm and at peace than he has in a long time. He’s with some of his favorite people and animals, and even thought the sky is covered in clouds, he can taste magic in the elderberries, can feel it in the cold wind that brushes over them, moving in quiet whispers through the trees. Their leaves are falling, crowding around them, and it’s thrilling to watch the turn of the seasons. Somewhere in the night an owl hoots and Harry inhales deep, the scent of autumn thick in the air, fresh and heady. He can smell winter’s approach, the death of the natural world that will inevitably give way to spring. It’s an encouraging thought. Right now, he feels untouchable.

“Okay. Give me a hand?” Gemma asks.

Harry nods, handing his bottle to Louis again, who takes a long drink. Liam sits near him, arms around his knees as he looks around. He, too, seems a little more at peace out here with them. Like their dinner focused all their energies and each of them is operating on the same shining wavelength.  

Harry helps Gemma draw a circle in the dirt, a star inside it, just like the night before. She marks each point of the star with a crystal the size of her palm while Harry sprinkles salt around the outside of it, along with a mixture of dried herbs. They follow it up with a burning stick of sage, the tangy smoke rising into the air, filling the night.

“Okay,” Gemma says, “everyone sit on a point of the star. Make sure you’re inside the circle.”

They shuffle around, doing as they’re told. Niall prances over, sitting neatly on his point. He’s always better after having eaten, no matter the situation.

When everyone is comfortable, Gemma begins. “All right, so here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to focus and attune our energies to the star and then, using that energy, it’s going to help empower the five of us and connect us and heal the fragmented parts of ourselves.”

“What does that mean?” Liam asks.

“It means that the problem areas lately—the lack of communication, the self-doubt, the fear—it’ll soothe those. It won’t take them away fully, mind you. But it’ll help stabilize all of you and get you back in tandem, so you can conquer these things together. After everything you’ve been through lately, you’re scattered; your defenses are weakened. I’ve heard some things, _felt_ things, and I can tell you, you’re going to need to be a united force in the days to come. You’re stronger as a group, after all.” Gemma looks at Niall. “You’re a wolf pack. You need each other to move forward.”

Louis looks at Liam. “You listening?”

He scowls. “Shut up.”

Turning toward Gemma, Louis raises a hand. “Yeah, hi, uh—what exactly are the things you’ve heard? Could we get a heads up on that, or…?”

She fixes him with a fierce stare. “Talk to me after. For now, this takes precedence.”

Louis goes quiet and the four of them watch as she takes a deep breath. “Haz, you want to give me a hand here?”

“Tell me what to do.”

“I was thinking since you know them better than me, you could be the one to focus everyone’s energies. You’re the one connected to everyone here, after all. Our common denominator.”

“Oh. Yeah, sure.” This is going to be uncomfortable. Maybe that’s why she asked. She’s right, after all; he does know them all better than her, knows her better than they ever will. But that doesn’t make this any easier, and doesn’t make it feel any less invasive.

“Okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “I’ll start with you, Gem, since I’ve known you longest. Everyone else, it’s going to feel a little uncomfortable. You know when you go to the dentist and they say you’re going to feel some pressure? It’s going to be like that.”

“Whenever they say that, it really means it’s going to hurt,” Niall says darkly.

“It’s not going to _hurt_ , it’s just going to feel…weird.”

“Define weird,” Niall says. “Is it going to be like…needle in the gums weird, or like gay weird?”

“Gay weird?” Harry asks, frowning.

“Yeah, you know. Finger up the arse stuff. Because I’ve thought about some of that occasionally, but I’ve never actually, y’know—and I don’t know if I’m ready for that now—”

“And now I know way more about Niall than I ever wanted,” Gemma says, closing her eyes with a pained grimace.

“What? Everybody has gay thoughts! It’s only natural.”

Harry’s forgotten what they were even talking about before. “It’s not gay to enjoy that kind of stimulation, Niall. Plenty of straight men do.”

Liam looks utterly lost sitting in between Gemma and Niall. “I’m so confused,” he says, shaking his head. “How did get on the subject of prostates?”

“I just—”

“Niall,” Louis says calmly, his hands pressed together, “do us all a favor and shut your fucking mouth so we can do a magic spell.”

Niall opens his mouth to answer, but when Louis raises his eyebrows, he just closes it again and nods.

In the quiet that remains, Harry raises his hands again, taking a deep breath. He focuses his attention on Gemma, thinks of the details of her: the sound of her laugh, the gold in her hair, the memories he has of the two of them playing as children, watching _Robin Hood_ and sharing ice lollies in the summer, their smiles sticky and sweet.

With his magic, he reaches into the heart of Gemma’s being. Just like when he fixed the floor in the upstairs bedroom, he sees her in a multitude of colors, down to molecules and spirit. Her aura is a soft, autumn amber. She gasps a little as he picks up a thread of her spirit, pulling it forth. He attaches it to one line on the star drawn in the dirt, the one closest to her.

“Oh, what the shit,” Niall breathes. “What is that?”

Harry opens his eyes. That line is glowing the same fiery color as her aura. “That is a tiny thread of Gemma’s being. Your spirit is like…well, it’s like a tapestry. It’s a load of different things woven together that make you who you are. And I pulled a string out of it to connect her to this magic circle. _That’s_ why I said it was going to be uncomfortable.”

“What’s it feel like?” Liam asks, his eyes wide.

“It feels like being a witch, but ten times as much,” she says and there’s a strange cadence to her voice, an echo that reminds Harry of the wind. “I can feel…everything.”

“Do me next,” Niall says eagerly and Harry smiles.

He repeats the process, reaching into Niall’s spirit. Niall is laughter and lemonade in the heat, drops of condensation sliding down the glass. He’s fresh-growing grass and the feeling of guitar strings under the pads of Harry’s fingers. He can see the wolf inside him, the dark murky threads that linger, held at bay. He reaches for one of those and another one untouched by the wolf, braiding them together into one string. Then, he pulls it forth.

“Oh my god,” Niall gasps. “What—that’s—”

“I told you what it would be like!”

“No, you didn’t say this. Oh my god, my chest is burning. It feels like you’ve _shot_ me.”

“You’ve never been shot before.” Harry frowns. “Have you?”

“ _Yes,_ actually, and this is exactly what it feels like. Oh my god.”

“Yours feels like that because I took two of your threads. Sorry for not warning you, but I figured it’d be safe to get one of yours and one of the wolf’s at the same time.” He reaches out with a magical phantom touch, patting Niall’s shoulder. “Deep breaths, Niall. You’ll be okay.”

Niall does as he’s told, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths in through his nose, releasing them from his mouth. His line in the star is bright yellow.

Harry focuses on Liam next. What’s left of his spirit is so small, it’s hardly even present—and what is there is already attached to Louis. Harry can see them all like they’re made of yarn. He pulls the slightest thread he can, and it’s so small, so transparent, that it’s like the twine connecting a child on the verge of waking to the crystalline shards of a dream. Still, he holds tight, pulling it forth from where it’s stretched between Liam and Louis, applying it to the line in the dirt. It glows silver and Harry gets a sense of who he was before: shy smiles that bloomed under the gaze of a pretty girl, warm calloused hands, the sound of ocean waves on the beach, the beat of music as it pulses from the speakers of a club.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam says with a shrug, “that hardly felt like anything.”

“He took _two_ from me, you wanker,” Niall says, huffing out a breath.

Harry does Louis next. Louis’ spirit, when he reaches in, is like descending into a warm bath. It’s that feeling of sinking into bed after the longest day ever and Harry can’t help the way every one of his muscles relaxes in the heat of him and the way his toes curl. Louis must feel something similar because he lets out a dreamy sigh that has Niall and Liam exchanging a look, their eyebrows raised.

Louis’ spirit is old and it looks it, thousands upon thousands of threads stretching into a kaleidoscope of color. Harry plucks a few of them and is enveloped by Louis, by the crinkle of his eyes and nose when something is really funny, the way his mouth is shaped when he’s looking at Harry with that unstoppable fondness, the way he turns his coat collars up against the wind, the dance of his fingers across the piano’s keys. Harry can smell blood and feel the bite of winter’s chill at his back, the heaviness of a crown that once sat on his head, but Harry can also feel the joy of sunlight on his face, flowers in his hair, on his ring finger. Each thread is his bedhead, his annoyed huffs, his fingers scratching idly through Harry’s curls, his lips parting for Harry’s every time.

Louis’ thread, when it touches the ground, is a vivid blue. “That’s weird,” he says, a little breathless. He licks his lips. “I expected silver, like Liam’s.”

“Yeah, I don’t know why it’s like that. But I like it.”

Louis smiles. “Thanks. Can you do your own, then?”

Harry shakes his head. “Gemma’ll have to.”

And then, without any warning, she’s doing it, powers reaching right into his being, fingers plucking the threads like she’s playing a harp, and he sucks in a sharp breath at the feeling. It’s not painful, like he said, but it’s like swallowing an ice cube, cold and uncomfortable all the way down. Even though she’s his sister, there are just some things that aren’t meant to be shared. He can feel her rifling through him and he knows what he sees: soil under his fingernails, sprigs of lavender in his hair, the wind as it moves through the chimes outside the front door, the frosting on a cupcake. She sees him laughing at one of Liam’s terrible jokes, wrapping an arm around Niall to hug him, sitting on the beach with his knees drawn up wondering about Zayn. She sees his fingers twined with Louis’, sees a clearing exploding with color and light, flowers growing and bursting into life, a bubble of pink glitter shattering—

She’s gone as soon as she arrived, attaching his thread to his line. It’s a brilliant green. She coughs and her cheeks are a little pink.

“Erm. Sorry,” he says, heat crawling up his neck.

She coughs again. “Wow, uh…wow.”

“Did you get the emotional transference?”

“And physical.” She fiddles with her coat buttons, still blushing. “That was…”

“What’d she see?” Niall asks and Gemma immediately shakes her head.

“Nothing! It was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

Niall pouts. “You saying that makes me wonder about it even _more_.”

“She saw Louis and I, here, in this clearing. Uh. Remember, that day when I made the sunlight?”

Louis’ eyes widen for a split second and he hides a laugh with a cough, though not very well. “Right. Yeah. Good day, that.”

Niall looks back and forth between them, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why do I get the sense that’s not the whole story?”

“You want the whole story? I can give it to you,” Louis says and Liam’s face screws up.

“Can we just get through this?” Gemma asks, rolling her eyes at them. “Not everyone is a cold-blooded corpse, you know. It’s cold out here.”

“You’re right. Some of us are warm-blooded corpses.” Louis throws a pebble and it bounces off Liam’s knee. “And some of us are ghosties.”

“Anyway,” she says, ignoring that entirely. “Now that we’re all connected…” She looks around at them, grinning. “Deep breath, boys. It’s about to get very intense.”

“What does that me—” Niall gasps, voice cut off as Gemma places her hand forward, palm flat on the ground. All at once their lines spill forth, joining in the star’s center, melding together in swirls of color.

Louis holds up his hands, staring in wonder. Everyone’s aura is glowing brighter than before and they can all see them, an aurora of color around each of their bodies. Louis twirls his fingers. “Whoa,” he says, voice hushed. “This is some _shit_.”

He puts his hands to his cheeks and all of them react. “Oh my god, I can _feel that_ ,” Liam says, his eyes enormous. “I can feel your hands on your face!”

“Me too,” Niall says. “What _is_ this?”

“This is magic,” Harry says, smiling. He’s used to magic, used to the feel of Louis’ hands on his face, so this is nothing. “We’re all connected right now, bound to the circle.”

“Okay, ready?” Gemma asks. She looks at Harry. “Want to jump in on this, H?”

“Sure.”

Across from each other, they raise their hands. Both of them send healing magic into the center of the star, and it swims up the lines, up the threads holding them together, coursing into each of them. At the surge of magic, wind moves through their circle and Harry can see it blowing all of their hair up and back; it’s warm and inviting on his skin, almost tickling, and he can’t help but laugh. Magic is running through him, electrifying him, and he can feel it in all of them: the happiness, the warmth, the feeling of surety that this is where he belongs, that this is his home and nothing could ever be more right than this moment. He can see it pass through all of them; he sees Niall let out a deep, settled breath; he sees Liam do the same, letting go as he releases his clenched fists; he sees Gemma smile; and he sees Louis sit up a little straighter, a little more certain of himself.

“There,” Gemma says and her voice echoes like there’s two of her, one in front of them and one speaking to them from the past across seas of time. She looks around at each of them slowly, and Harry gets that feeling that he always does around his older sister: that she knows exactly what he’s thinking, how he’s feeling, and what’s going on in his head.

“You all know what it is you need to do to overcome your obstacles, it’s just about doing it. Draw strength from each other, take comfort in each other. Face your demons, together.”

She reaches out and takes Liam’s hand and he almost squawks in surprise. She gestures for him to take Louis’, for all of them to do it around the circle. It’s a strange thing, to feel five people holding your hands at once, to feel yourself holding someone else’s hand. Physics.

“Take a deep breath again,” Gemma says. “Close your eyes. I’m going to put everyone’s threads back.”

They do the same thing, but in reverse order: Slowly, Gemma and Harry pull down the magic charge. Gemma pulls their energy back from the center of the star, and she goes widdershins around the circle, starting with Harry. He gently tucks their threads back into their selves, weaving them back into their original forms. He swears that as he leaves Louis, he feels a brush of him against his mind and he shivers.

Harry finishes with Gemma and they all open their eyes. Slowly, they let go of each other’s hands and the light fades from the circle. All that remains is the five of them and the trees, the night suddenly more inviting than before.  

Harry feels calmer. He feels better, revitalized, his magic bursting back to life. More importantly, he feels at peace. He knows it won’t last long enough to make sure he permanently stops chasing a solution for him and Louis, but he feels steady, ready to take on whatever life might throw at him, witches and otherwise.

They help Gemma clean up and put things away while Niall shuffles off behind some trees to do a wee. Liam floats up into the air, looking up at the sky. Harry joins him, hovering beside him, and Liam throws an arm around his shoulder. Despite the hovering, he’s as solid as Harry’s ever felt him; he’d mistake him for a witch if he didn’t know any better.

“That was really nice,” Liam says, smiling at Harry. “I mean it. It was incredible. I feel like I could do anything right now.”

“Yeah?”

“I feel like I should yell.”

Harry laughs. “Do it! Do it, Liam, I’m serious. It’ll be the best feeling.”

“I’ll do it if you do it.”

“Let’s do it,” Louis says from slightly below them. “All of us, right now.”

“Even me?” Gemma asks.

“Of course even you! Especially you. Let’s do it. Ready?” Without waiting, Louis throws back his head and howls. His voice is clear in the night, dancing up to the moon, and even though she’s hidden behind clouds, Harry just knows, he can tell right now that the moon loves Louis, she loves all of them and their midnight worship of her light.

Liam watches Louis, then does the same, howling loudly with his hands around his mouth. Gemma looks at Harry with raised eyebrows, shaking her head like she can’t believe this is real. In answer, Harry does the same, flipping upside down in mid-air, curls hanging down as he howls, though not as loudly as the others, as he’s laughing too hard to properly pull it off.

Gemma stares at them, shrugs, and leans back so far she almost falls over, her high voice joining theirs. Niall responds as he runs back to the clearing, laughing at the four of them. Gemma joins them in the air, and then all five of them are going off, their voices mingling like their energies, swimming into the sea of the clouds and stars overhead.

After howling themselves hoarse and breathless with laughter, they decide to make another firepit. Niall starts digging a hole while Louis and Gemma look for any remaining wood scattered around the clearing. Liam and Harry roll a couple of logs over to sit on, Harry healing them a little, as they’re wet and falling apart from months, possibly years, in the woods. His magic is back and it feels luscious, like biting into a juicy peach.

Liam watches him. “So I had this thought right now,” he says and he can tell Harry wants to make a joke there because he grins quickly. “And I want to run something by you.”

“Go for it.”

“I think…” Liam takes a deep breath. “I think I’m ready. To go see where it happened.”

At first, Harry doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but then it hits him. What else _could_ he be talking about? Harry stands up straight. “First step towards moving forward is to say it, you know.”

Liam swallows hard, but then he manages, “To see where I died. Yeah. And maybe my grave. If you’re there with me. Everybody, I mean. All of us.”

“That’s great, Liam! Of course we’ll go with you. We’re a family now.” Harry laughs, gesturing around. Behind them, Niall is kicking dirt at Louis while Gemma hovers near a tree out of reach, bent over with laughter. “I mean, look at us. Like Gemma said, we’re a wolf pack. We all know what we have to do to be happy, and I think this is yours.”

Liam nods. “I just…I think it’s time.”

“Good. We’ll be there for you, no matter what. Whenever you want to go, just say the word.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Liam smiles and he glows a little, his aura shining. “You know, I’m really glad I met you.”

“Me, too.”

“Oi,” Louis yells. “I can hear you over there, and you better stop trying to seduce my spouse!”

“Sp—wait, your _spouse_?” Gemma shrieks and promptly falls out of the air, crashing down to the ground.

Liam and Harry exchange a look, laughing. “Oops,” Harry says. “Guess I should have said something about the nature wedding.”

“Maybe a hint would’ve been nice.” He shakes his head. “Are you two going to have an actual wedding?” When he realizes what he’s said, he backtracks. “Sorry, not that one’s more valid than the other—”

“No, I get what you’re saying.” Harry nods, brushing his hands together to get dirt off them. “I think so, yeah. I know my mum’s gonna want me to have a ceremony with a witch presiding over it, and I haven’t even met Louis’ family yet, so…”

Liam wrinkles his nose. “Louis has a family? Like, a live one?”

“Yes, I do,” Louis shouts from across the clearing. “You prick!”

They laugh again and Harry shakes his head. “We should probably give them a hand. Otherwise, he’s just going to eavesdrop all night.”

“And you all thought _I_ was a problem eavesdropper…”

Together, they rejoin the group and Harry is wordlessly happy, despite the curse, despite everything, beneath the hidden but watchful moon.

* * *

Harry and Niall both have work in the morning, so they can’t stay out for long, not nearly as long as they want. They wait for midnight, the witching hour, to come and go and each of the elderberry beers to be finished before they’re ready/

“So,” Gemma says to Louis as they’re picking things up, packing them away again. “That’s what I saw earlier. Here, in this clearing.”

“Yeah. A bunch of birds married us out here. It was really weird and incredibly romantic.”

“All those Words with Friends games, and not once did you feel the need to mention that you and my brother are already married.” She shakes her head. “For shame.”

“Yes, I feel terrible about it. Truly.”

“Yeah, you sound really broken up.” She smirks at him.

He shrugs. “Vampires aren’t known for being overly emotional. So sorry.”

“Ha! What a load of tripe.” She offers a hand and he pulls her to standing while Harry snaps his fingers to gather up their bags. He’s deep in talks with Niall about baking, the two of them plotting for Halloween, and Louis would never dare interrupt.

He laughs. “Excuse me?”

“I was just inside my brother’s head, Louis. I know shit now. I think you feel much more deeply than you let on.”

“Guilty, again.” He shakes his head sarcastically. “The way you always know what’s going on with me, it’s like…well, it’s like magic!”

“You laugh, but I’m right.” She takes out her tarot deck as they walk back to the house. “Anyway, wanted to talk to you – seriously, for a moment.”

“That’s not foreboding at all.”

“You remember what I said earlier? About seeing and feeling things?”

Louis nods. “I asked you for a warning.”

“And I said ask me again after. And before you _do_ , let me just say: I don’t know what it is. I never know for sure what the feelings are about, because that’s the thing—they’re just feelings. More like suggestions of emotion that come to me as a warning.”

“But you said you saw things.”

“Oh, well. That’s different.” Her tarot cards float in the air, shuffling themselves while she roots around in her pocket. “You know how I was busy today? Out and about in the city?”

He nods.

“Well, I decided to take some time to visit some of the magic shops around. Just do some looking into what Harry’s been working on.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Not on that, no.” She shakes her head, the braids woven intermittently through her hair swaying across her back. “I was walking down the road when a gust of wind came barreling at me. And this hit me.”

She pulls a small piece of paper out of her pocket. It’s dirty, stained by water, and it’s crispy in his hand when she gives it to him. It’s torn, a piece from something larger.

On it, there’s a single written word, though by all rights in the wind and rain, it should’ve smeared away, should’ve faded.

 _Samhain_.

Louis recognizes the fancy font immediately, his heart suddenly in his throat as he stares down at it.  It hurts to swallow and it’s _not possible_ because he tore that up here, in Gloomingshire. There’s no way it could have—this is a mistake, it’s some kind of coincidence—

“Your energy’s on it,” she says, as though she can read his mind. “Mystical fingerprints. They get you every time.”

“So?” he manages, passing it back to her. He doesn’t know what else to say.

“There’s no reason it should have come to me. I told you last night, the wind and I – we’re not nearly on as good terms as she and Harry. The only thing I can think is that it’s a warning, in addition to the feelings I’ve already had. It must be very important for the wind to give it to me.”

She reaches out suddenly, touching his wrist. “There are shadows at your back and they fly fast on dark wings.”

He jerks away from her. “Look—”

Her tarot deck appears before his face. “Pick a card, Louis.”

“Oh my god. You’re like—listen, I’m not going to just because you say so—” Even as he says it, he feels himself languishing under the fierce green of her gaze. It’s so much like Harry’s that it effectively zaps all of his determination, just like that.

“Pick. A. Card.”

He sighs. Ignoring her rules, he picks a card at random, holding it out. “There.”

“Uh-huh. Figured as much.” She shows it to him. A man wearing a funny hat is carrying an armload of swords away from what looks like a military camp, their tents brightly colored, banners caught in a morning breeze. It’s the seven of swords, upright.

“And?” He knows that suit, isn’t sure why he asks. Delaying.

“You’re hiding something. And you think if you go it alone, you’ll come out on top, but I’m pretty sure we just spent the last two days proving otherwise.” She sighs, putting the card back into her deck. “Look, you don’t have to tell me anything. But remember how I said each of you know what it’s going to take to make you happy? You _know_ what obstacles are in your way. It’s up to you to deal with them, together.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Sure you don’t.” She slips her cards back into her pocket and winds her arm through his. “C’mon. It’s getting colder.”

* * *

Gemma leaves the next morning, after having breakfast with everyone. Using a full-length mirror that she pulls out of a bag Mary Poppins-style, a crystal, and a handful of gold dust, she teleports from their sitting room. To Harry, it’s old hat, but the other three exchange a wowed look, eyebrows raised. Harry smiles, sipping his coffee, popping a blueberry in his mouth.

While he and Niall are gone, Louis and Liam get back to _their_ ever-important work at home, sending Harry periodic snaps throughout the day from Louis’ phone. There’s a picture of Liam wrapped up in fake spiderwebs, a picture of him and Louis pretending to be zombies, and one of Louis wearing a plastic set of vampire teeth, a glimmer of laughter in his eyes. Harry saves them all, making the one of Louis his wallpaper. He’s _not_ a nerd, he swears.

When he gets home in the afternoon, the walkway is lined on both sides with tombstones, fake skeletal hands reaching up from the ground. Lanterns hang from the roof of the porch, swaying slightly in the breeze, and giant fake spiders are placed here and there in the bushes. He thinks there are a few fake crows up on the roof, but they rustle their wings as he approaches and he grins, waving at them. Strangely, they don’t answer back.

They spend the next few days settling back in, relearning their own space. They take time off from decorating to do some proper deep cleaning, despite all the wards and spells among their many Halloween goods, and there is honestly no better feeling, Harry thinks, for all of them than waking to a freshly cleaned, beautiful house draped in fake spiderwebs and orange tinsel, their energies properly elevated and aligned.

Finally, a day arrives when both Harry and Niall have time off and they decide that’s a perfect time to go visit Liam’s grave. When they bring it up with him, he has no objections.

“Okay,” Harry says, whispering. He taps the screen of his phone, so the camera turns to face him. It’s midday and he’s been up for hours, bored out of his mind waiting for the others. “Just got word we’ve got a special guest. We’re about to come up on one of these in its natural habitat. This is some prime footage never before seen by anyone on earth. The world of science will never again be the same. Ready? Here we go.”

He taps the screen again, inching down the hallway. He holds his phone out around the wall, pointing it into the loo. He turns it slowly to catch sight of everything—and everyone—inside. Slowly, he sneaks inside.

“Oh my god,” he whispers. “There it is, look!” He zooms in. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are currently looking at a vampire right here in the wild. Look at that, he’s cleaning his teeth. So as you can see here, the vampiric teeth come down from those sheaths on the roof of the mouth and he—oh, look, there he goes, they’re out and he’s—yes, he’s cleaning them. This is a rare bit of footage, nobody has ever seen anything like this before—ooh, look, he’s seen us! He’s looking right at us. Oh my god.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, he seems curious. He’s a little interested in us. Let’s see if we can get him to come over.”

“Harry, what on earth—are you _filming_?”

“Oh no, he’s looking a little agitated now. There’s some foam happening at his mouth. He could be about to attack—”

“Who are you talking to? Give me that!”

“Oh no, run, we’re under attack, _run_!”

Harry shrieks, darting down the hallway, into the sitting room. Louis chases after him, their feet slipping and sliding on the hardwood floor. Harry gets the sofa between them and he flinches when Louis pretends to dart forward.

“Come here,” Louis growls, grinning. There’s a smear of toothpaste lingering below his mouth.

Harry shakes his head, biting his lip.

“I’m not going to do anything,” Louis says, his tone deceptively smooth. Despite knowing it’s a trick, it almost works – Louis just has that eternal effect on him. 

“Liar.”

“Harold, I would never.”

Harry tilts his head, smiling. “Lie.”

“Come _here_ —” Louis dissolves into a cloud of mist, bursting into being right beside Harry. Harry throws his hands out just in time, a pink bubble appearing around him in time to deflect Louis.

Louis stares at it, smirking as he rubs his chin. “Impressive,” he says, “but you can’t hold that up forever.”

“Can’t I?” Harry laughs. “I can make entire galaxies of semi-intelligent life. I can pull all the liquids from a living thing and turn them into jewels. I can outlast you.”

“Darling, I _really_ doubt that. See, I’m never going to die.”

“Well, I’m working on that, too.”

“Uh-huh. How about we work on it together?” He taps the bubble, his fingernail making a hollow sound.

Harry considers it for a moment. “Promise you won’t do anything?”

Louis holds a hand against his chest, dipping his head a little in a bow. “On my own grave. I promise.”

“Okay.” Harry lets the bubble down.

Louis stands there for all of one second before he flings himself at Harry. Harry yelps and laughs, the two of them propelled backwards. They bounce off the sofa and onto the floor, narrowly avoiding the coffee table and its many Halloween knickknacks.

“Louis, you _swore_ —” Harry melts into laughter as Louis tickles him, hands darting across his stomach to his sides, clenching his hips.

“Yeah, on my grave, which is _empty_.”

“Lou, _oof_ —come on, watch it,” Harry protests, trying to hold his phone up away from the vampire attack, but Louis snatches it from him and tosses it away. It bounces, clattering across the hardwood floor, and Harry squawks, bending his head back to try and see where it landed.

Louis takes Harry by the chin, steering his head back down. “I’ll buy you a new one,” he says breathlessly, twining their fingers together and holding him down against the antique rug to kiss him. Harry laughs against his mouth and arches up against him, trailing his calves over the back of Louis’ thighs, pressing his heels into the small of Louis’ back to pull him closer. He tastes like spearmint.

Louis makes a noise against his mouth, leaning back a little. “We’re supposed to be going out in a few soon,” he murmurs.

“So let go.”

He laughs. “Like it’s that easy.” If anything, his hands tighten around Harry’s wrists and he shifts unconsciously beneath him, mouth opening in a gasp. Louis’ eyes light up at that and he kisses Harry again, biting his bottom lip this time. His fangs are out, but he’s careful, always so careful.

“We really should, though,” Harry says, disappointed, a minute or two later.

Louis sighs. “I know. We’ve got to go be good friends or whatever.”

“Later, though?”

“Like you need to ask.” Louis bends to nip his neck, kissing him one last time, and then he’s getting up, unwinding himself from Harry and offering him a hand.

Harry’s phone, when they find it, is broken, the screen shattered into bits. “I was serious, you know,” Louis says, handing it over to Harry. “I’ll get you a new one. One of those rose gold ones for my gold rose.”

“That was the gayest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Funny, I figured it would’ve been _I love the way you taste_ or _marry me_. Something actually gay.”

Harry’s heart patters faster at the mere mention of past conversations along those veins. “Speaking of,” he says, looking down at his phone. “Liam asked me about that the other night.”

“About which? You’ll have to be more specific, I said a lot of shit just now.”

“About us getting married. He wanted to know if we’d do up a—well, not a _proper_ ceremony, since ours was just fine, but one for our friends and families.” He braves the look up, meeting Louis’ eyes. “Would you want to do that?”

“Would I want to do that,” Louis repeats. “Are you _joking_.”

“Well, I just thought I’d ask! If you don’t want to, it’s fine, we can just—”

“Harry. Baby. Are you hearing yourself right now?” When Harry starts to sputter out something else, Louis puts a hand over his mouth. “Of course I want to. Holy _shit_ , Harry. I haven’t been married in the eyes of God and man or whatever since the tenth century, and it was to a _woman_. Of course I want to marry you. In any life, in every universe, I’d always want to.”

As soon as Louis removes his hand, Harry says, “And the gay sayings just keep on coming.” Still, he can’t help the pleased blush spreading across his face. Louis and his quiet revelations have a way of peeling back every layer of Harry and sewing joy into the fabric of his being like it’s not even a hardship. He kind of loves it, the way they’re embedded in each other, bound up like this in spades.

“Would that make them gayings?”

Harry giggles and Louis kisses him again, one for every time he’s made Louis fall in love with him. Again, and again, and again.

By the time they finish getting dressed and cleaning up a bit after their scuffle, Liam’s ready, waiting by the door. Niall has the day off, for once, and he comes down the stairs just as they’re all meeting in the sitting room, unbrushed hair a mess, caught in a yawn.

“Jesus,” he says, looking at Harry’s phone on the coffee table. “What happened?”

“I threw it,” Louis says.

“Uh huh. And why would you do that?”

“Reasons,” Harry says at the same time Louis says, “Sex.”

Niall winces like he’s in pain as Louis tilts his head. “Right. Should’ve known. That’s your answer for everything lately.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks, gesturing to Harry. Harry does a twirl, his hands in the air.

“No,” Niall admits. “But maybe focus today, yeah?”

“Well, you’ll notice with those keen werewolf eyes of yours, Niall, that we’re dressed. So we are ready to focus, yes.” Louis goes to stand by Liam, clapping him on the shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

“Ill.” Sure enough, he is paler than usual, which is saying a lot considering his status as a wandering spirit. “Can a ghost even _be_ ill, do you think?”

“Sure you can,” Louis says, nodding. “We’ve seen you heave loads when we’ve gone out with you in London. Like that one time, remember, you slipped in it and almost fell down the stairs of that—”

“Ugh, I remember, shut up.” He swats at Louis, reaching for the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“You’re the one who wants to do this,” Harry reminds him, tugging on his scarf. “We don’t have to. We can stop at any time. In fact, if you don’t think you’re ready—”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Liam says again and heads out the door.

Louis puts a hand on Harry’s arm and Harry looks at him. Niall goes past them out into the cloudy afternoon while Harry reaches for Louis’ hand, squeezing. Together, they follow.

It’s drizzling by the time they get into the car and the rain only gets worse as they make the drive, Harry behind the wheel for the safety of everyone concerned. He can’t be sure if it’s him, Liam, or just the weather that’s doing it; he knows the winds gusting the sides of the car are probably him. But he can’t help but be a little anxious. This is sort of a big deal, after all.

Harry accidentally drives past the site, unable to see it in the rain, but Liam makes this sound like somebody’s punched him in the chest and Louis points it out, able to see it through the terrible weather. Harry turns around and they drive back, pulling off the side of the road. Only a couple of other cars go whizzing by, tires hissing spray into the air and Harry flinches away from the road.

The roadside memorial is simple, small. A white cross stands there, stained a little by dirt but washing clean in the weather. Beneath it are a couple of candles, their glass containers filling with rainwater, and Harry can’t help the thought that it looks as though they’re collecting tears. Scattered around are fake flowers, their color faded by the occasional sun, their petals wilting and going soggy. _In memoriam,_ the cross says.

Louis turns his collar up against the wind, eyes narrowed against the insistent rain. “Liam?”

He looks ashen, even for a ghost. His hands are jammed deep in his pockets, his shoulders up in defense of the rain. “This isn’t right,” he says, nudging the flowers with one toe. “It’s in the wrong spot.”

“It is?”

He nods and starts walking. They follow slowly, several steps behind him.

He doesn’t go very far. “Here,” he says, pointing to a place a few meters away. “This is where it happened.”

“What happened?” Niall asks. And he’s not asking about what he means, he’s asking for the details. For the full story.

“It was raining, like today. He just…came out of nowhere. Hit us, we spun off the road. Hit that tree back there.” He points to where a stump is sitting back by the memorial. “’Course, they took it down after what happened.”

Harry reaches out tentatively with his magic. There’s nothing left inside, not a single thread of life. The stump is dead, murdered, just like Liam. He says a few words in his head for it, for the ground they’re standing on. It’s changed now, hallowed, as much a graveyard as any with a fence and a proper sea of headstones.

Still. Harry can feel the remains of something there, some life reaching out. He curls his fingers into his sleeves.

“I don’t really remember the full details. I remember hitting my head on the wheel. I remember pain in my side. Something had stabbed me, I think. Glass, maybe, or a bit of metal. Maybe one of the branches, who knows? I remember trying to reach for my phone, but I couldn’t, and it was broken anyway. I remember trying to reach for my girlfriend, but she wasn’t there.”

“Where…?”

“She wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”

Niall shakes his head. “Jesus.”

“I don’t remember getting out of the car, but I must’ve somehow.  And I dragged myself here. Guess I thought I was going to make it for help, but I bled out.” He taps the ground with his foot. “And then I died. Right here.”

Niall jumps a little, taking a step back. “Literally right here?”

Liam nods. “Literally right here. They say if you’ve been stabbed not to pull it out because you’ll bleed more. Well, I know that _now_.” He laughs a little, but the sound is brittle at best. “And now we’re here!”

“How’re you feeling?”

Liam shrugs, his eyes glued to the ground beneath his feet. “Okay, I guess. I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel real. Like I know it is, because I remember. I know it happened to me. But…”

“The dissonance.”

“Yeah. I’m still standing right here. I’m still going on like I’m alive, I’m just a little different now.”

“A little different,” Niall chokes out. “Sure, that’s one way to put it.”

“You sound disappointed,” Louis says. He’s looking at Liam searchingly, expression serious.

“I just…I thought I would feel something.”

“For yourself, or for her?”

“Both. I thought I would feel closure or something. I thought I might feel some part of myself, of her, still hanging around. I mean, that’s what it is to be a ghost, right? I’m _stuck_ here. I thought there’d be a puzzle piece here or something. I thought maybe I could sense her like you do, Haz, with your magic. Fingerprints of energy, right?” Harry nods. Liam, however, shakes his head. “But there’s nothing. I don’t feel anything at all.”

Nobody says anything. A car goes past and Harry shivers.

Louis pulls out his smokes and a lighter. Without even really thinking about it, Harry conjures an umbrella made of magic, holding it over him so he can light his cigarette. If anyone sees it driving by, he’s certain it’ll look like the real thing. Louis inhales deeply, blowing out clouds of smoke thickened by the moisture in the air. Niall reaches out and Louis hands it over. When Niall’s taken a drag, Liam holds a hand out as well.

They pass the cigarette back and forth, until it’s down to the filter. Liam tosses it down to the ground, crushing it out with his boot. Just like that, the flame goes out.

Harry lets his umbrella dissolve. They turn to start walking away, but he kneels down instead. He touches the ground, both palms laid flat against it. There’s _something_ there, Liam’s wrong. He reaches down deep into the earth, eyes closing. He can feel it, can feel the new growth like little whispers. They’re ready to come out, ready to be born. He smiles; who is he to deny them that?

With his magic, Harry consecrates the ground. He energizes the roots, helps them grow faster, until they’re pushing through the dirt and rising, little seedlings. He doesn’t want them to drown in the rain, so he speeds them up even more, until they’re already flowers and mushrooms, until there’s a perfect ring of them there circling where the four of them stand.

There. From death, life. It’s the way the circle goes. Suddenly, everything seems a little clearer, like the memorial isn’t the only thing being washed clean and clear by the rain.

He stands up, turning to face them. Liam’s eyes are wide and beside him, Louis is looking at him like he’s the sun, all fondness and warmth.

“Do you know what _ouroboros_ is?”

Liam shakes his head. Louis, of course, nods. “ _οὐροβόρος ὄφις._ Tail-devouring snake.”

“What does that mean?” Niall asks.

“It’s a symbol of the cycle of life. The snake is constantly eating its own tail, going around and around and around. Life, death, rebirth. It’s a symbol of infinity.” Harry shrugs. “And wholeness.”

When they just stare at him, he smiles. “Ready to go?”

* * *

Liam is buried in a small cemetery in Wolverhampton, just a few blocks away from his family’s home, just a couple hours away from their house in Gloomingshire. It’s not raining there, but the sky is just as gray, the leaves of every tree they pass scattered along the sidewalk and grassy knolls as they approach the graveyard. The iron gate squeaks hideously as they enter and Louis glares at it.

The first thing Niall does is ask if he wants to go home to see his family, to which Liam fervently shakes his head. “No way,” he says, voice shaking a little. “Last thing I want is to fuck them up any more than they already have been. They’ve been through enough.”

“We could maybe…keep updated on them, though, if you want?” Niall asks. “From afar.”

“That sounds a little creepy,” Louis says.

“What? I just mean like Facebook, not like spying through his parents’ windows.”

“That would be better, I think,” Liam says, nodding. “Now help me find my grave.”

That’s not really a sentence Harry ever thought he’d be hearing, but here they are. This is just their life now: drinking blood, having werewolf hangouts, doing spells in the garden, and looking for Liam’s grave on the off chance it’ll make him feel better about the whole _undead_ thing. Nope, nothing weird about that whatsoever.

They split up in couples, Louis reaching for Harry’s hand automatically. Sniffing jealously, Niall takes Liam’s arm and they march off in the opposite direction. Louis rolls his eyes as they go. “Prick,” he mutters. “Why are we friends, again?”

“Because you love him.”

Louis sighs. “Unfortunately. Here, let’s go over here.”

They wander off toward the back corner, Louis nudging aside moss and flowers, brushing dirt off of damp stones to read names. Some are so worn, Harry can’t make out the letters, only the dates. It makes him nervous, makes him antsy: he doesn’t want this to be their future, Louis cleaning off his grave, his name fading on a block of stone. He doesn’t want to be reduced to a handful of numbers, born here, died here, and that’s all that remains.

“You okay, love?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“You’re squeezing my fingers like I’ve insulted your herb garden or something.”

Harry relaxes, yanking his hand out of Louis’. “Oh no, sorry! Sorry.”

“It’s all right,” he says, smiling ruefully and stretching his fingers. “I’ll recover.” When he’s done, he immediately takes Harry’s hand again. “Something on your mind? No, don’t answer – let me guess. This graveyard…is giving you the existential creeps.”

Harry smiles a little. “Something like that.”

“We’ll keep working on that, Harry, I promise you. Okay? For now, though, try not to let it bother you. I’m right here and you’re next to me and today is just one day. Let’s not think ahead three hundred years just yet, all right?” He brings Harry’s hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips over his knuckles. “Deep breaths, darling. Come back to me.”

Harry does as he says, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Some of the anxiety fades to the background and he uses a little bit of magic to center himself, to keep him grounded to Louis’ hand, to this cemetery, this moment, this experience with the four of them. _Focus_ , he tells himself. _We’re here for Liam._

“Okay,” he breathes, opening his eyes. “Thanks, Lou.”

“’Course.” He kisses Harry’s hand once more and they resume walking through the rows, weaving through Celtic crosses and weeping angels, their stone hands cupped over their faces to hide their tears.

“Louis?” Harry asks. “I have a question.”

“Go for it.”

“You mentioned your grave earlier, when you betrayed me and broke my phone.” Louis grins at that. “And I remember you said something about how it helps to go back and see your grave. Have _you_ been?”

“Yep. That was me speaking from personal experience. I’ve been a handful of times here and there throughout the years. I mean, the coffin’s empty like I said, so it’s a little funny for me to visit a box with nothing in it, but it’s still there.”

“Where is it?”

“Back in France. I’ll take you one day, if you want.”

“To see your ancient, empty coffin? Wow. Romantic.”

Louis smiles, tilting his head. “I _am_ , aren’t I?”

Harry laughs. “I’m not complaining! I’d love a trip to Paris.”

A look crosses Louis’ face like he’s just said Doncaster’s football team is trash. “Who said Paris?” he says stiffly, his smile mechanical. “I said France.”

“But…you were a king. Surely—”

The stiffness thaws a little as he tosses his hair back from his forehead, running his free hand through it. “So sorry to break it to you, darling, but you’re slumming it with one of history’s least favorite kings of France.”

“You’re kidding me, right? You mean to say this entire time, I could have been with a _better_ king of France? I should have been knocking on Louis XVI’s coffin all along, see if he answered?”

Louis stops, pulling his hand away from Harry. “You think better king of France, you think _him_? My god, Harry. I’ve never been so insulted in my life. All of it, not just in the time I’ve known you.”

“Really? This beats your parents murdering you?”

“Attempting to and yes, it’s a close second. That Louis ruined over a thousand years of uninterrupted French monarchy. I mean, he’s practically a great-great-great-great-great grandson of mine, right?”

“But you didn’t have kids.”

Louis goes on as though Harry didn’t say anything. “Family embarrassment is more like it. What an arsehole.” He holds his hands up. “But go ahead. Good luck dating a man with no head.” Louis snickers. “Can you imagine introducing _him_ to your mum?”

“Maybe he has a _head_ for diplomacy, he could win her over.”

Louis groans, holding his stomach. “Oh my god. _Harry._ I can’t believe you just made me hear that with my own ears.” Harry laughs, one hand over his mouth to stifle the sound a little. It feels wrong to laugh in a graveyard, standing over all these dead people, but he can’t help it. Besides, if you’re laughing at an undead person, does it really count?

“Anyway,” Louis says, flicking his hand dismissively. Harry imagines he banished people from his presence that exact way when he was a living king. “You don’t want to date him.”

Harry thrives on stories of Louis’ historical firsthand knowledge, all the centuries old gossip about people long since gone. “Why not?”

“Well, he was weird, for starters.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Right, because you’re the picture of normal.”

“Second, I’m not really remembered for much, which is actually a good thing in and of itself because it means I wasn’t so stupid they had to teach people about me. He’s remembered for all the wrong reasons, none of which are entirely his own, but his _wife’s_. Well, except for that grain thing, that was entirely his fault.” Louis shakes his head pityingly. “Talk about dull, though. Couldn’t even be remembered for his own scandals, had to ship them in from Austria.”

Harry slides a look at Louis. “That seemed a little…personal.”

“Oh, it was. She and I did _not_ get along.”

“Is there any historical figure you haven’t met? And annoyed?”

Louis thinks for a moment. “Caesar. But only because he’d been dead for nearly a thousand years already. I mean, as far as I know. He could’ve been a vampire, too.”

“Weren’t you spying for the British at that time? During Louis’ reign, I mean. The other Louis.”

Louis stops mid-tirade. His grin widens, taking on that devilish tilt Harry knows so well. “No, I’d started spying for America by then. I was only in France for a short time.”

“Why?”

“Reasons.”

“ _Louis._ ”

“All right. I was visiting a close friend of mine. Things were popping off in France, as they say, and I promised to lend a hand.”

“Oh really? Who was it?”

“He had a dozen names, being nobility and all, but Gilbert du Motier was a shorter version. You’d probably know him better as—”

“Oi,” Niall shouts, interrupting their discussion. “Over here! We found him!”

Harry takes Louis’ hand again and he doesn’t pull away. He follows Harry to where Niall and Liam are standing in front of a headstone, all talk of French kings forgotten. It’s a relatively new one, only a little dirty, the letters and numbers still fresh. It’s nice, a dark marble with gold lettering, and Niall lets out a low whistle as they approach.

“Mint, mate. Looks good.”

“I’m so glad you think so,” Liam says, rolling his eyes.

“Hey, I’m just saying: your parents obviously cared enough about you to make sure everybody knew it. Me and Lou didn’t exactly have that option. I mean, Lou’s parents tried to fucking assassinate him.”

Louis nods sadly, lips purposely downturned.

“But you’re not dead,” Harry points out.

“Yes, I know,” Niall replies. “But I faked my death back then. Didn’t want my family to know I was a werewolf.” He shrugs. “So many people were dying then anyway, it wasn’t even that surprising for them.”

“Jesus,” Liam mutters, looking around at the three of them. There’s a bit of bleak humor in his eyes that gives Harry some hope for how all of this is going to go. “We’re definitely a happy sort, aren’t we?”

“I’d like to think so,” Niall chirps happily. He sits down right there in the damp grass over Liam’s grave, patting the ground beside him. “C’mon. Let’s commune with your corpse.”

Liam winces as they sit. “Can we not use that word? It makes me sound naff.”

“Okay. Uh. Your _remains_. How does that sound?”

“Better.” Despite how damp the ground is, the trees around them dripping with earlier raindrops, Liam leans forward to lay down, pressing his ear to the grass like he’ll hear breathing from within. “D’you think I’m still in there? My body, I mean.”

“Hang on, I’ll Google it,” Niall says, pulling out his phone. “ _How…long…does it take…a body…to decompose…_ oh, look at that, someone’s been searching for that! It just popped up. God, I love the Internet. Wish we’d had it back in the day.” He reads, eyes scanning an article. “Okay, mate, good news: You’re still in there. Even without a coffin, it’d take you almost a decade. With one, it depends on the wood; it slows down decomposition a lot.”

“Can we maybe not use that word anymore either?”

“You just asked me to check if your dead body was still in your coffin. I think we’re past that now, Liam.”

Liam lets out a sigh. “Yeah, I guess we are.” When he sits back up, there’s a leaf stuck to his head and a smear of dirt on his cheek.

Gently, Louis pulls the leaf free. He pats the area of Liam’s head where it was stuck. “How’s it going in there, pal?” he asks quietly.

“I…I don’t know.” Liam lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “It’s hard to put these things into words, innit? I’m just…kind of sad, I guess. Been thinking about my family and…” He pats the ground. “That’s _me_ in there.”

“Is it, though?” Louis asks. “Harry talks about this stuff all the time. About spirits and souls, about energy.”

Louis looks at him expectantly and Harry nods. “The mind-body problem. Atoms and neurons versus dreams and feelings. Who are we really? What does it come down to?”

Liam shakes his head, frowning. “All this shit is why I never took philosophy at uni.”

“I know, it’s a bit much,” Louis says. “But it’s kind of what you’re saying right now. You’re sad because you feel like that’s you in there. But it’s just your body. _You_ are sitting here with us. I mean, if you’re just a body, then how do you explain your spirit? You laugh at jokes, you watch the telly. You have personality; you’re still Liam. You know? So you’re not really down there. That’s somebody you left behind.”

“Not the only person I left behind.” He points at the headstone beside them. “That’s her.”

They all twist around to look. Sure enough, there’s a pale stone beside his, covered in ivy. Niall’s the closest; he reaches over to push the vines aside. “Sophia,” he reads. “Nice name.”

“You know I forgot it?” When they look at Liam, he nods. “I forgot it. It feels like it’s been twice as long sometimes. Like maybe I’ve been here since the start of everything.” He sighs, digging his fingers into his thighs. “I just…I feel so much now? Either too little or too much. Does that make sense?”

Louis nods. To some lesser extent, Niall understands what they’re out there doing, and Harry gets it from a detached empathic sort of place that his witchiness allows him, but Louis is the only one who truly and completely understands. Again, the mind-body problem. Realms of experience differ for everybody. It’s easy to imagine how _you_ would feel about a situation, but impossible to know exactly how someone else might.

Except for right now.

“You don’t know how you can be dead, when you feel this much,” Louis says, tilting his head. “But at the same time, everything feels so far away. It’s so hard to care unless it’s something sad, or something that makes you angry. It’s like depression, honestly.”

Liam nods fervently. “Exactly! I’m either really sad or really angry. Or tired! I get so tired sometimes. I just have so many questions! Why me? Why not her? And I know it’s selfish to wish she was here too so I didn’t feel so alone but I can’t help it, I do. I just don’t know why I’m _here_. Sometimes I just…” He stops abruptly.

“Say it,” Louis says. “What could possibly surprise or horrify us at this point?”

“Sometimes I just wish I could leave. Pass on, or whatever the fuck,” he grumbles. “But the thought of just being gone scares me so much I can hardly stand it.” 

Harry looks at Louis. He told him that once—that he’d thought about killing himself, that he almost did it but was scared of just blinking out of the world with no one to remember him. He feels that way, too, a little. It’s why he’s so interested in finding something that will help him live longer. Out of all the things that should scare them, it’s the most human of them all that they have in common: It’s not even so much the fear of death, but the crushing, all-consuming fear of being gone, being forgotten. Empty, haunted houses.

Harry scoots a little closer to Louis and Louis puts his arm around Harry’s shoulder unconsciously. “I’ve been there,” Louis says. “I’m back there every so often. I think we all are, to be honest. It’s like I told Harry—it’s just so exhausting to exist sometimes. And now you’re here when you’re not really meant to be.”

“That’s what confuses me the most. It’d be easier if I could just be gone. And then I wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore.” He looks up, meeting all of their gazes slowly. “Do you know what it feels like to be invisible to the entire world except for four people? To never be _seen_ by anyone? That’s what makes me feel the worst, like I’m already not even here. So if I’m not there and I’m not here, then what the fuck?” He holds out his hands and they’re translucent. “I’m just an echo. Something left behind.”

Liam looks at Louis. “How do you do it? Keep going?”

Louis shrugs helplessly. “You just…do, honestly. I wish I had a better answer than that after all this time, but I really don’t. You just keep doing what you’re doing. But I think what you need is a little help. You need us and I think you need something to hold onto.”

“Your anchor,” Harry says. Suddenly it’s so clear to him, so obvious. Liam’s anchor, his spirit. What if it can be changed? Altered? Didn’t they essentially do something along those lines a few days ago? “What’s keeping you here. I don’t know how I didn’t see this before.”

“What?”

“Listen. I might be able to pull your anchor out of Louis and put it back in you.” When Liam’s eyes widen, Harry nods. “Yeah. I mean, we basically did it the other night during our spell, right? Took a part of your spirit, temporarily removed it, and then put it back. I think I can remove it from Louis and return it to where it belongs. Put the thread back in your tapestry, so to speak.”

“Really? I know you mentioned it once before, but I wasn't sure.”

“Me neither, because I'd never seen it done before, but now I have. And if it works, I think that’ll help you feel more real and feel more like yourself. Because it seems like you attached to Louis because he’s dead, but so are you, so double the dead-feelings!”

“You want to try?”

“Why not? I don’t think it would be too difficult.” Harry twists his fingers together, biting his lip. “Or…if you really want, I can just break it. Leave it unattached. Let you go.” 

“What?” Niall barks. “That’s not a serious offer, is it?”

“Well, he just said sometimes he doesn’t want to be here! I’d rather leave the choice up to him.”

Liam blinks slowly. He thinks about it for a second before he shakes his head. “I…I want to try to put it back. And if it doesn’t work, then maybe we’ll talk. But let’s give it a shot first, okay?”

Harry smiles, nodding, and Liam brightens at the sight. “Of course. I just wanted you to make the choice.”

“Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it.”

“Here. While we’re here and on the subject, I want to show you something.” Harry taps places in the air before them and they glow like stars. He taps them again, drawing glowing green lines between them. It looks like nothing more than a hexagon when he’s done with it, a constellation in the stormy air. “See this?”

“It’s a shape,” Liam says, staring at it.

“Uh-huh. Looks just like some lines and light, right?” He points to its flat surface. “This is your death. It’s only got this one side.”

“Why is it always maths with you?” Louis mumbles under his breath and Harry grins, digging his elbow into his side.

“Shush. I’m getting to my point. You have the option of seeing it this way, your death. It’s just this thing that happened to you and it’s all very tragic and one-sided. Or…” He twists his hands and the shape changes, more lights appearing throughout it, more lines illustrating the depth in it. Niall gasps, Liam’s eyes widening as suddenly it’s an icosahedron, twenty-sided and three-dimensional. “You can see it this way. And I haven’t changed it at all, you see. It’s the same shape; I just gave it some dimension. Now there are all these different ways of seeing it, and it’s up to you which one you choose.”

“So you’re saying it’s all about seeing things from a different _perspective_ , is that right?” Liam smirks at him. “Thought you didn’t like that word.”

“Well, you haven’t threatened to kick me yet, so I figure things are going okay.” Harry pats the shape and it bobs in the air. “I’m serious, though. You have a second chance, just like Louis. What matters now is what you do with it. Life, death—it’s all about balance. You’ve got to find yours now that you’re new. Find your anchor, what makes you feel at home.”

“And that can be anything you want,” Niall says. “It can be your spirit thread thingy or it can be us. We’ll take care of you, mate. Okay? You just gotta let us in.”

Louis nods, grabbing Liam’s knee and shaking it. “We’re here for you. And we’re not going anywhere. Mostly because we’re going to live a fucking _long_ time, but you get the picture.” He grins and that pulls a tiny smile from Liam. Harry can feel him start to relax at least a little, some of the chill around him thawing. It’s going to take a while, but winter always melts to spring.

As the two of them chat a bit to Liam, pulling him out from the hole—the grave—he’s dug himself in, Harry suddenly has a fresh understanding of Keats. It’s not about him versus Life, it’s never been that. It’s more like the rest of the world and its realities versus them. True monsters and fears against their little band of thieves. _No more let Life divide what Death can join together._ He looks around their circle, at what Death and Life have joined together.

Harry lets the shape dissolve into a mist of sparkles, and he smiles.

“What’re you smirkin’ at?” Niall asks. “He’s not himself yet.”

“No, but you know what they say—”

“ _Dum spiro spero_ ,” Louis says before Harry can finish his thought.

Harry frowns. “Wait, what’s this one now? Every day, it’s a new Latin phrase. I can’t keep up.”

Niall laughs, rolling his eyes. “Try living with it for almost two hundred years, mate.”

“Watch, I bet he doesn’t even actually know Latin,” Harry says, wrinkling his nose. “I bet he’s just got a bunch of family mottos memorized.”

Niall cackles at that. “Like he just had all this free time ’cause of the whole vampire thing, so he just read a bunch of genealogy books and memorized them?”

Harry nods, snickering. “He knows like every coat of arms in Europe.”

“Oh my _god_.”

The three of them laugh and a couple of ravens go flying out of a tree overhead, croaking as they go, almost mimicking the sound. Louis just glares at them, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “If you’re _quite_ finished,” he says acidly, “it means ‘while I breathe, I hope.’”

Liam nudges Louis’ leg with his foot. “Guess that rules you and me out, huh?”

“Isn’t that why we’re here?” Louis asks dryly. “Existential dread and the absence of hope? Really, though, you should speak for yourself.”

“True. You’ve got a witch passing you off as alive these days, you breathe plenty.”

“Well, I’d offer, but I don’t think it would have much of an effect on you, Liam.”

“You couldn’t handle his blood, mate. It’s well buzzing even on a bad day, trust me.”

“Yikes,” Niall says. “This is not a part of your relationship I want to know about. If it’s got something to do with blood or come, I’m not interested.”

“That sounds fake, but all right,” Louis says cheerfully. “Besides, I’ve seen you change. You don’t get to judge.”

Niall chooses to ignore that, stretching instead, wincing as he shifts around. “My arse has gone completely numb. Any closer to the P in RIP, mate?”

“That’s another Latin term, you know,” Louis says smugly. Niall rolls his eyes.

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding. “I think so. I mean…I don’t necessarily feel _better_ yet. But I feel different. A little bit lighter. And I trust in Harry and his magic.”

Harry beams as Niall gets to his feet, bent over slightly like he’s an old man. And Harry supposes he is, really, if he thinks about it. Louis gets up too, offering Harry a hand, but he gestures for him to wait for just a moment more.

Harry does what he did at the accident site. He puts his hands to the ground, feels the seeds within just waiting to be born, excited to be alive. He smiles, closing his eyes and flooding them with power. When he’s done, he opens his eyes and takes Louis’ offered hand.

On top of Liam’s grave is a circle of flowers and mushrooms just like the place where he died. “Your life, your blood, gave those seeds at the accident site life,” he says, looking at Liam. “Just like your body does here. The cycle keeps going. It’s not all bad, you see? As long as they’re here, you’ve done something worthwhile. As long as they’re here, you’re still alive.”

Harry brushes the dirt from his legs. “ _‘From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.’_ ”

“Edvard Munch?” Louis asks. Harry nods.

“Who’s that?” Niall asks, frowning.

“Norwegian painter. Did that one everybody knows, _The Scream_. You remember that one.”

“Ah, right. Good one, that. I can relate.”

Harry laughs at that and even Liam manages a smile.

“I think we all can,” Louis says. “You know what that makes me think of, though? Munch was friends with Paul Gauguin, a French artist, and he’s got this painting called _Where Do We Come From? What Are We? Where Are We Going?_ ”

“Sounds like us,” Niall says and though he’s smiling, Harry can tell he’s serious.

“Exactly. But!” Louis holds his hand up like he’s about to command they ride into battle. “Enough of that. We need something to uplift us again. So here’s what I propose: We go out to get ice cream. We rent some movies. We go home. We watch those movies and then we go through Harry’s immense collection of board games and get sloshed.” He frowns suddenly. “Actually, hang on. Liam, how do you get drunk?”

“The pure and absolute power of belief,” he intones. Niall and Harry exchange a look, eyebrows raised, and Harry dissolves into helpless giggles.

“So I guess we figured out where we’re going, then,” Niall says. “Now if only the other questions from the French artist were so easy.”

“But then what fun would there be in the eternal adventure?”

Harry looks at Louis, smiling and shaking his head. Louis’ canines are just visible in his smile, poking into his bottom lip, and Harry can’t help but feel this surge of energy. He loves his life, he loves his friends, he loves Louis, and he loves the hope he finds in them all the time. Despite standing in a cemetery, he feels so _alive._

 _The eternal adventure awaits_ , he thinks, and takes Louis’ hand.

* * *

They don’t get back to the house until late evening, the sun hidden behind clouds as it sinks low over the horizon. As they pull in, Harry sets the lanterns out front alight with a snap of his fingers and a few laughing skeletons welcome them up the steps. Liam looks around with a newfound sense of…maybe not wonder, but contentment, hope, and that’s good enough for Harry.

“I’m knackered,” Niall says as he flops on the sofa.

“I’m hungry,” Harry says. Ice cream several hours earlier didn’t exactly do much for him, not when he’s still technically on the mend and using his powers more than usual. Even witches need to recharge and he understands how Louis feels a lot of the time.

Niall sits straight back up. “I’m not _that_ tired.”

“Figured.”

“I will never be that tired.” He stretches, looking more awake than he has all day. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you want, Ni.”

Niall beams. “I love you.”

“Love you too, pumpkin.”

Louis rolls his eyes at them and shoves Niall off the couch. Niall just grins and rolls to standing, planting his hands on his hips.

“I have a good idea, one I’ve been meaning to try out. Let me see if we’ve actually got the gear for it.” He disappears into the kitchen, opening their cabinets and perusing them. “Fuck! Okay.” He comes back, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll be back in a few, I’ve got to get to the shops before they close.”

“But the board games,” Louis protests.

“I’ll be right back!”

“Can I join you?” Liam asks.

Niall pauses at the front door, reaching for his coat. “You’re not going to go all mental, are you? Start flinging vegetables at little old ladies?”

Liam laughs. “No, I’ll be fine. I hope.”

Niall thinks it over for a few seconds before he shrugs. “Good enough for me. Let’s go.” He claps a hand on Liam’s back. “Proud of you, mate. Already making progress.”

Liam grins and, within a few minutes, the two of them are gone, the door shutting behind them.

They leave a considerable amount of quiet in their wake. Harry and Louis exchange a look and Harry laughs quietly, shaking his head. “So now what?” he asks.

“Now you—” Suddenly there’s a great ringing sound, half a dozen bells chiming down the stairs. Harry turns in time to see all the cats, Felix at a distance, running down the stairs and meowing. Louis laughs as the young ones take turns winding between their legs, tails curled up in the air. “Okay, I’m feeding the cats, I guess. You go get the board games.”

Harry nods. “Right.”

He scurries off to the hall closet where a lot of their gear is stashed away. The board games are on the top shelf and even he can’t reach them from the floor. He floats into the air, using magic to lift out the boxes and blow dust from their lids. He missed having magic, missed being able to do as many things at once as his heart desires. One by one, he floats them out to the sitting room.

Harry can’t say for sure when he notices the quiet. He’s just sneezed at the dust in the closet and is humming to himself when it occurs to him. He doesn’t know how long it’s been there, settled alongside him, waiting to be noticed, but finally it strikes home: Silence. Utter silence and stillness, like the brief moment before rain spills from the sky. He stops, tilts his head, listening. No meowing cats, no Louis responding to them, no clink of cat bowls in the kitchen.

He sticks his head out from the closet. “Lou?”

There’s no answer.

That’s when he hears it: the high, shrill whine in his ears, like he’s just been dazed by something. A ringing. An itch across his skin.

 _The wards,_ he thinks, a chill moving down his spine. _Somebody’s here._

“Louis?”

He drops to the floor, runs without thinking about it, without it occurring to him that he could get there faster with magic. He slides into the kitchen but Louis isn’t there. All the cats are gathered under the breakfast table, huddled together. Petal hisses and Felix growls.

“Fee, where’s Lou?”

It takes two tries before Harry understands what Felix is saying. Harry darts back to the sitting room, the door flying open automatically, slamming against the opposite wall.

Louis is standing there in the evening gloom, lit only by the lanterns hanging overhead, casting shadows of grinning jack-o’-lanterns across his skin. He’s got his hands in his pockets, but there is nothing relaxed about the way he’s standing.

He’s not alone. Two people Harry doesn’t recognize are standing below, in front of the steps. One is a tall, thin man with sallow skin, his cheeks sunken in, his hair long and dark in a loose ponytail. The other is a much shorter woman, her blonde hair cut in a chin-length bob. She’s wearing a sleeveless shirt and a skirt over tights, despite the weather. As Harry arrives, she blows a bubble in her gum. Behind them, there’s the sound of dozens of crows, like they’re fighting over something.

“We don’t need any cookies, thank you,” Louis says, voice deceptively smooth. There’s a hint of ferocity in it that stops Harry from reaching out and touching him, the kind of anger you might only notice if you were specifically looking for it.

“Funny,” the guy says. He jerks his chin. “Who’s the witchy boy?”

“None of your business.”

He grins. Harry’s heart skips when he sees the long canines. "Those were some clever traps, witchy boy. Not meant, I don't think, for us." He turns to Louis again. “Well? Aren’t you going to let us in? You're being uncharacteristically inhospitable."

“No, I don’t think so.” Louis’ jaw is clenched so tight, Harry can see a muscle working there.

“Aw,” the girl says, her voice nasally and whiny. “But it looks so _cute_!”

“What are you doing here?” Louis asks.

The foremost vampire sighs dramatically. “We’ve only come to deliver a message.” He pulls a black envelope, encased in red ribbon, out of his coat and hands it out. Louis doesn’t move to take it. “That’s it, I promise.”

Still, Louis doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word. The wind blows past and the windchimes clank together.

The stranger shakes it a little. “Oh, come now. Let’s not be so cross.” When Louis still doesn’t move, he turns his attention to Harry, whistling at him. “You. Hand this to your boy, why don’t you?”

Harry inches forward so he’s standing beside Louis, not even near the steps, but Louis moves in the blink, in the tiny space between seconds. He snatches the envelope from his hand and appears beside Harry again just as quickly. “There,” he says. “You can go now.”

“We were told to wait for a reply,” the girl says. She snaps her gum again and Harry narrows his eyes at her. He know she’s a vampire and has a certain aesthetic to uphold, but the dark lipstick she’s wearing does not suit her at _all_.

“Fine.” Louis opens the envelope, pulling the paper out. Harry looks down at it.  

“ _The Samhain ball is nearing and you’ve yet to RSVP,”_ it says. _“Which, need I remind you, is the height of rudeness. Come on, Louis – you’re_ le roi de sang _. It just wouldn’t be a party without you. Your presence is expected.”_

There’s no signature, but Louis seems to know who it’s from anyway. He crumples it in his fist, throwing it back at them, and the envelope after it. They both land on the front steps at the vampire’s feet. He just raises his eyebrows, still smiling pleasantly.

He looks at Harry. “Is he always in this good of a mood?”

Harry just folds his arms over his chest. “I think you should probably go.” It’s the most he can come up with without betraying that he has _no_ idea what’s going on—and the last thing he wants is to look stupid in front of some arsehole vampires.

“Certainly.” He turns back to Louis. “Your message?”

“Tell him he can go fuck himself.”

The vampire smiles, revealing his teeth—all of them. Harry suppresses a shiver. “You know we’ll just keep coming.”

“Good for you.” Louis makes a shooing motion. “Go on, then. Should I write it down for you? It’s quite simple: _Go. Fuck. Yourself._ ”

“That’s not necessary.” He bows slightly. “Have a nice night.” When he straightens, he wiggles his fingers at Harry in a lewd misrepresentation of a wave. “Lovely to meet you, dear Harry. Hope we’ll see you again soon.”

“Don’t count on it,” Louis growls.

Harry frowns. "How did you know my—" Before Harry can tell what’s happening, he’s being ushered back into the house.

Louis slams the door so hard the entire house shakes. He watches them go through the curtains, eyes narrowed into furious slits. Harry has never seen him so angry. He’s _glowing_ with it, blazing, like a fire in the dark, lightning striking in a storm. This is the person he’s always warning Harry against, always trying not to show. This is the old power he was talking about.

“So,” Harry says, after a minute or two. Louis’ still tense, shoulders hunched and hands curled into fists. “Erm. What was all that?”

Louis doesn’t answer. He’s still looking out the window, still wound taut as a bowstring. _If he doesn’t bend_ , Harry thinks, _he’ll break._ Harry doesn’t know what else to do but go to him.

“Louis,” he says softly. “Can I touch you?”

Louis doesn’t answer for so long that Harry thinks he must not have heard him until finally, he nods stiffly.

He leans against Louis’ back, pressing his head to his, winding his arms around his waist. _It’s okay,_ he thinks. _It’s okay, I’m here, I’m right here with you. I don’t know what the fuck’s going on but I’m right here._

It takes a few minutes, but Louis finally relaxes in his arms, the tension melting out of him. He touches Harry’s arms, holding onto them as he turns his head slightly to see Harry out of the corner of his eye. “Remember how I said I didn’t have any skeletons left in my closet?”

“Mm-hm.” Harry’s heart is thundering so fast, his head spins with every beat. 

“I was telling the truth.” He sighs, shaking his head. “It turns out they're vampires. And they may or may not want me dead. For good, this time." 

Right. Okay. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops i made gemma bi again. hope this makes up for the bits of angst. angst will be in steady decline from here on out so i hope you're ready for the fluffiest shit ever. sorry for another cliffhanger lmao
> 
> also chapter titles are from "earned it" by the weeknd 
> 
> i'm occasionally on [tumblr](http://www.g-uttertrash.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> sorry if there's mistakes btw, i feel like i've reread this so many times and been looking at it for so long that i'm sick of it now lmao
> 
> also thanks to snoop dogg for that "teamwork makes the dream work" quote, i gotta needlepoint that


End file.
